The girl or the game?
by Procrastinator-starting2moro
Summary: Lily won’t date James because of his Quidditch obsession, so he quits it for a bet. In 7 days, he struggles to cope with withdrawal symptoms, while she attempts to not fall in love with him and prevent embarrassing situations like sniffing his boxers.
1. Ripping off testicles

**Disclaimer-** I own nothing, except my lack of sanity.

**The Girl or the Game?**

**Chapter 1**

**James' point of view**

_Bugger_. I'm running as fast as possible to the common room to meet with the Head Girl apple-of-my-eye-Evans, but I _know _I'm late. And not by just a few minutes, which she gets significantly annoyed over because she has the time-keeping of my mother; which happens to be very precise. But I'm late by at least _half an hour_.

She's going to rip off my testicles.

I finally manage to get to the portrait of the Fat Lady and tumble inside in my Quidditch gear and sweat that's not only mingled from the Quidditch practice I've just had, but by the major sprinting I took to get here. She better be bloody grateful.

I spot her over by the fire; her hands are full with parchment for our usual Head Girl-Head Boy meeting.

"Lily," I greet her, putting on a rogue smile. We've been on the first name basis and quite sociable terms ever since the start of this seventh year when she discovered we were Heads together, forcing her to finally agree on making an effort to be friendly with me.

I think I'm actually starting to grow on her.

"Are you some kind of idiot?"

Or not.

"Er...is that a rhetorical question?" I ask.

She stands, putting the parchment aside as she eyes me up. Is she actually...checking me out?

...No wait, she's just glaring at me. False flirt alarm.

"Where the hell've you been?" She presses, poking me in the chest. She realises I'm currently sweltering and wipes her sweaty finger on my Quidditch shirt...which is also sweaty. She makes an infuriated groan. "You're thirty three minutes late, James!" Again, freaky mother time-keeping. "Do _you_ think I _like_ waiting around for you all day? Huh? Do you think I _enjoy_ _wasting my time _waiting for you to even _bother_ turning up?"

"Well, considering you _did_ wait...and...er..."

Okay, one of her eyes is bulging. I better stop talking and make her happy with a 'no'.

"Er, no?"

"Where have you been?" She asks again.

I pull an apologetic face. "Look, I'm really sorry. I had Quidditch practice and I was going over these new moves with my team. It's where both chasers do intertwining flying. So let's say Chaser A flies with the quaffle and Chaser B and C fly with them either side, and either Chaser B or C drops below and then—"

I stop because Lily's exaggeratingly put her head in her hands, faking snoring. I forgot she's not really a fan of Quidditch. Of course, she'll support the Gryffindor team every match and purposely ignore my gallant calls of "I shot that last goal for my Head Girl!"

Any other girl would find that a very heart warming gesture. She acted like it was some sort of death omen and attempted to rip out my internal organs.

She finally opens her eyes and shakes her head at me. "Merlin, all you ever think about is Quidditch."

That is not true. I think about a lot of other important stuff! Like...global warming! But I never really understood it no matter how much Remus tried to explain to me. But still, I _do_ think about it!

"I have other interests too," I say feebly.

Lily cocks an eyebrow, "Example?"

Okay, think this through, James. Tell her things that will make her like you. Okay, here are some choices:

a) Pranking.

b) Girls.

c) Hating Snape.

d) Hitting Sirius.

Okay James, you're not thinking this through are you?

"James?" Lily waves hand in front of my face as I'm spacing out.

Think faster, nobhead! THINK FASTER!

"...Um..you?" I say with a damn sweet smile, if I do say myself.

She smacks me upside the head.

Wrong answer, moron.

"Wrong answer, moron," Lily says. For a second, I think she's just read my thoughts and repeated them, but apparently she was just thinking the exact offensive feelings.

I think it's time to bring out the reinforcements.

I move close towards her. "Why don't we stop this charade, eh?"

"What charade?" She grits through her teeth. How adorable she is, trying to act oblivious! She _knows_ exactly what I'm talking about.

"You know there's this..._thing_...between us."

"What _thing_?" Her eyes make into dangerous slits.

Okay, now her obviously fake obliviousness is a little annoying.

"You know we're meant to be together," I tell her. I see her shaking; I'm not sure whether it's from nerves or general anger. "Me Head Boy, you Head Girl. Too much of a coincidence, I say."

I somehow think it was Dumbledore trying to get us to get together. Gotta love that old kook.

"We are not having this same conversation again, James."

I pout in a way that many girls have said is adorable. She asks why I am puckering like a fish and I put my lips back to normal.

"But why won't you go out with me, Lily?"

"Because all you care about is bloody Quidditch!"

Maybe she has a point. My passion for Quidditch does overthrow other duties, such as hurting Snivellus. I've been too busy to prank him in quite a while now; I must be getting ill.

"I do not just care about Quidditch," I protest.

Suddenly Sirius bursts into the common room; a shit-eating grin on his face with a hand wrapped around a rolled up magazine. He runs up to me, completely ignoring Lily's presence.

"Prongs, there you are!" He literally bounces on his feet like his hyperactive puppy dog Animagus self. "I just got the new _Quidditch Weekly_!" He wags the magazine in front of my face. "There's this new broom and it's so stunning. You look at it and your eyes burn, mate! Trust me! They water like they're drooling!"

"OH WOW!" I can't help but shout in excitement. "Quick, lemme see! Lemme see!" I grab for the magazine but then notice Lily out of the corner of my eye, scowling.

"Um." I bite my lip. "I mean, I'm not that bothered. I'll look later." I hand Sirius back the magazine and push him away. "Or, maybe I won't look at all," I add to Lily, raising my eyebrows impressively.

I turn back to Sirius who looks absolutely appalled at my words. He may even be crying tears of disgust.

"I _will_ look later," I reassure him in a whisper. Lily snorts, which makes me realise that my whisper wasn't low enough. Sirius looks happy and gives me a wink. In one quick move, he points and me, points at himself, points at the magazine, holds up a hand of five fingers (which I assume in Marauder sign language is five minutes) and hurries up the common room stairs.

I'm so going to smack him one later.

"So, what were we talking about again?" Lily doesn't seem to be keen on carrying on with the conversation. "Oh yeah, why you won't go out with me," I frown in remembrance.

She shakes her head, somewhat tired. "Name one dialogue we've had together that doesn't involve me arguing or telling you off for aggravating me."

Oh...that's a hard one. This whole 'questions and answers' thing I am not enjoying. She isn't even giving me any multiple choices. It's unfair tactics.

"I can count two conversations we've had in the past seven years of Hogwarts. _Two_," she repeats, with much mockery.

"Care to share?" I say lightly. Apparently my light tone is not appreciated.

"The first one was last year," she explains, "beginning of February. Location: the Great hall at breakfast."

I like how she documents things.

"It went like this: I said, Will you past me a slice of toast? You said, Sure, would you like butter on it? I then replied, No thank you."

Wow, I remember that conversation. She ate her toast and got jam on her nose. She was like a red-button nosed snowman. Not that's she's actually a man or anything...or made of snow or has stone eyes. Although she is occasionally cold towards me and stony glares are very much aimed in my direction.

"Very detailed," I mention.

"The next one," she carries on, "I'm not so sure about, because it was the Gryffindor celebratory party for winning the Quidditch cup and I think had a little too much Butterbeer. It went like this: you asked me how much I had to drink. I said lots. I then asked how much you had to drink. You also said lots."

I remember that conversation very hazily. I think she got her facts wrong; there wasn't even any Butterbeer at that party. I vaguely remember Sirius spiking the punch with Firewhiskey whilst Remus looked all disapprove-y. And Peter got sloshed out of his mind and tried to hump a table.

I try to get back to the point, "We've had many more serious conversations than that, y'know. How about the ones we had in fifth year? I remember one where you asked me if you could borrow a quill—"

"And you replied by saying, 'I will if you go out with me, Evans'."

I cringe. So maybe the quill memory was a bad example.

"Oh, I know! When we were in library and you couldn't reach a book. So you asked if I could get it for you, I said sure and I did."

I smile smugly. That was a rare gentleman moment of mine.

"You're leaving the ending part of that memory out."

Oh...yeah. Now I come to think of it, maybe that wasn't a good example either.

"Oh, I _think_ I said I deserved something in return when I handed you the book. And er," I quickly turn red, "I said—"

"Go out with me Evans, so you can take your head out of books and into my crotch," she says in a deadly tone.

C'mon, don't give me that look. I was fifteen and a perverted berk. I was childish and didn't respect women back then. I'd like to think I've grown a little more mature.

"Heh...heh heh..."

Shit. I'm chuckling. I'm chuckling at the memory of being perverted at fifteen. Stop it stop it stop it! My Head Girl's getting angry. She seems to be grinding her teeth to dust. I like her teeth; they're shiny.

"Stop smirking."

"Only if you go out with me, Evans," I grin.

She does not look amused.

"I was joking," I clarify and put my hands up in defence. She doesn't find the joke funny and clenches her fists. I swear it was just a wisecrack...with not much wise thought. I was just trying to lighten the situation up; be humorous, which is something I'm not good at it - though my jokes are slightly funnier than Sirius' "A guy walks into a bar" ones. Girls always love the funny guy, don't they?

As I'm contemplating my theory on funniness, Lily suddenly has a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Why don't we make a bet," she says.

I lift an eyebrow. Lily Evans, Head Girl, betting? Now that's something you don't see everyday. I'm glad to say that I am great at bets and have won many in my time in Hogwarts, which have included holding my breath the longest, skinny-dipping in the lake and eating at least a hundred chocolate frogs in a row.

"What kind of bet?" I ask, intrigued.

This time she moves close to me. "A bet which involves, if you win, which is highly doubtful," she insists, with a snort, "me being your girlfriend."

This is the best bet I have ever heard in my life. I can imagine her lips on mine already. It's perfect. Almost..._too _perfect.

"What's the catch?"

"You have to give up Quidditch for a week."

_Christ_, she _cannot _be serious. She's raving mad. Those Head duties have affected her brain.

"And what if I lose?"

"I shave all you hair off," she smirks.

I, without hair, am not attractive. Trust me. It's not. Bald men repulse women. It's a fact.

"So, have we got a bet?" She holds her hand out ready to shake.

I cannot agree to this bet. It'll kill me. I swear it'll be the death of me. Don't get me wrong, I like Lily and everything, maybe even more than that. But giving up Quidditch? Pah! No way! My decision will not be budged.

"Okay," I say, and shake her head.

You stupid twonk! What part of 'no way' don't you understand? Stupid, stupid hand!

As we both shake and look each other intensely in the eye, I quickly pull her hand towards my mouth and peck a kiss on it.

Bad move.

She smacks me upside the head. "Bet starts tomorrow," she tells me as I rub the pain away. "Goodnight."

She turns on her heel and flounces up the common room stairs, humming.

I am so screwed.

**Lily's point of view**

I'm going to _kill _that twatty balls. I don't know where that James Potter is but I'm guessing he's probably snogging a nameless girl in the corridor and examining her tonsils. Oh yes, I may be on a first name basis with him but that doesn't mean I have to have nice thoughts about him.

I check my watch again. Thirty two minutes late! I try to distract myself by shuffling the parchment in my hand but only end up tightening it in my hands and making it crumple. I do not like crumpled parchment.

Thirty three minutes now.

I'm going to rip off his testicles.

"Lily."

I turn my head from the common room fire and spot James coming towards me, putting on that usual boyish smile.

"Are you some kind of idiot?" I yell.

Ha, that'll wipe that smirk off.

"Er...is that a rhetorical question?"

I don't know how even made Head Boy. He is incredibly smart in all lessons so I'm assuming he is just acting this dumb because he simply cannot be this stupid.

I stand up, trying to put my crumpled parchment down neatly and eye him. He's panting and wearing that Quidditch uniform, and he's quirking an eyebrow; that smarmy git. He must think I'm checking him out.

"Where the hell've you been?" I poke him a chest but it instantly gets wet on the tip. James Potter sweat is on my finger. Ugh! I quickly try and wipe it on his shirt but that's soaking too! Where the hell has he been, in the bloody lake? I groan, "Do _you_ think I _like_ waiting around for you all day? Huh? Do you think I _enjoy_ _wasting my time _waiting for you to even _bother_ turning up?"

"Well, considering you _did_ wait...and...er..."

He's got a point actually. I did wait for him...Why? My left eye is bulging without my control at the fact that I waited that long for him and he looks freaked out.

"Er, no?"

"Where have you been?"

He makes a sort of puppy dog face, and for a second it transfixes me, but then I remember who exactly he is and this is his specialty. "Look, I'm really sorry. I had Quidditch practice and I—"

I instantly switch off. He's blabbering on about some 'intertwining moves' and chasers, but frankly, that bores me to death. I hate the technical stuff of Quidditch. To me, it's just brooms, bats and balls. His eyes light up as he explains and I put my head in my hands and make a loud snore, hoping he gets the message. He does and stops talking, thank-bloody-God.

"Merlin, all you think about is quidditch," I state.

"I have other interests too," he says, but weakly.

"Example?"

I wait as he looks above him as if he's thinking through all his possible options. I let him think because he rarely contemplates his thoughts before he speaks, so I might as well cherish the moment. But when it's been at least a _minute_ of silence, I am slightly getting annoyed.

"James?" I wave a hand in front of his face.

"...Um...you?"

Oh God, he did not just say that. I smack him upside the head. I can't believe he's making a move on me at a time like this.

"Wrong answer, moron," I tell him. He looks a little startled at my words, as if I've just read his thoughts or something.

All of a sudden, he's moved closer towards me and I'm aware that it's just too close for me to handle.

"Why don't we stop this charade, eh?"

What? Where the hell has this come from?

"What charade?" I grit through my teeth.

"You know there's this..._thing_...between us."

He is making absolutely no sense whatsoever. And this so called 'thing' I am totally oblivious to.

"What _thing_?"

He looks annoyed that I do not understand. That doesn't really bother me.

"Me Head Boy, you Head Girl." I think I'm shaking; I try desperately to keep my anger under control. "Too much of a coincidence, I say."

I suppose I do have to agree with him here. I'm sure it was Dumbledore's conspiracy to get us to be a couple. He's a wise man and knows too much.

"We are not having this same conversation again, James." I now know where this little chat is going. He's going to ask my why I won't go out with him.

...He's puckering his lips like a fish. I tell him so and he reddens, making his face back to normal; whatever his normal face is.

"But why won't you go out with me, Lily?"

There you go. It's a wonder why I'm not so good at Divination.

This persistent question is really getting tedious. "Because all you care about is bloody Quidditch!"

He knows it's true. Sure, some people like it as a little hobby but his love for it go far beyond passion and lust.

"I do not just care about Quidditch," he says stubbornly.

Out of the blue Sirius burst in the common room with some sort of magazine in his hand. He's jumping on his toes and is grinning in way that makes me feel very uneasy. I'm about to carry on my conversation with James but Sirius has run up to him and starts going on about, guess what: _Quidditch_. I hear vaguely about something 'stunning' that makes me think that magazine may be some sort of porn, but then he mentions the word 'broom' and I instantly scowl.

"OH WOW! Quick, lemme see! Lemme see!"

I'll _let him see_ my fist.

He turns to look at me and sees my scowl.

"Um...I mean I'm not that that bothered. I'll look later." He places the magazine delicately in Sirius' hands, as if it's the book of the Gods and must never be creased. "Or, maybe I won't look at all," he adds to me with raised eyebrows. He looks at me as if I should be impressed. I'm not.

I glance at Sirius and he looks like he's either about to vomit, or start sobbing. What is wrong with all the men around here?

"I _will_ look later," I hear him 'murmur' to him. His murmuring is basically the same frequency as talking. It's not possible for him to lower his voice. It's as if he wants the whole world to hear because he's so arrogant.

Sirius looks happy at James' words. In a flash, he does some sort of odd sign language of pointing fingers and runs upstairs.

"So, what were we talking about again?" I cannot believe he just asked that. "Oh yeah, why you won't go out with me."

At least he remembered eventually.

I shake my head and ask him a question that's been pondering in my mind. "Name one dialogue we've had together that doesn't involve me arguing or telling you off for aggravating me."

Ha, that'll stump him. He's just opening his mouth in an 'o' shape, so I take it as my turn to carry on speaking.

"I can count two conversations we've had in the past seven years of Hogwarts. _Two_."

"Care to share?" He says lightly. Does he just think this is some sort of game? I don't think he can be serious for a second.

"The first one was last year," I explain, "beginning of July. Location: the Great Hall at breakfast."

I like to document things.

"It went like this: I said, Will you past me a slice of toast? You said, sure, would you like butter on it? I then replied, No thank you."

Yes, what a conversation, I hear you say dryly.

"Very detailed," he comments.

"The next one I'm not so sure about, because it was the Gryffindor celebratory party for winning the Quidditch cup and I think I had a little too much Butterbeer. It went like this: you asked me how much I had to drink. I said lots. I then asked how much you had to drink. You also said lots."

I think I remember James dancing on a table, then Peter humping that very same table minutes later. It was a hazy night. Now I think about, I doubt what I was drinking was actually Butterbeer.

"We've had many more serious conversations than that, y'know. How about the ones we had in fifth year? I remember one where you asked me if you could borrow a quill—"

"And you replied by saying, 'I will if you go out with me, Evans'," I finish.

"Oh, I know!" I start to worry if he's thought of something good. "When we were in library and you couldn't reach a book. So you asked if I could get it for you, I said 'sure' and I did."

I cannot believe he's leaving out the end of that memory. I tell him this and then he suddenly remembers the rest of the conversation, with much embarrassment I'm glad to say.

"Oh, I _think_ I said I deserved something in return when I handed you the book. And er," he blushes, which is something odd to see on him. "I said—"

"Go out with me Evans, so you can take your head out of books and into my crotch," I finish acidly.

Can you actually believe he said that? I admit he's not as perverted now as he was back then. Maybe he has grown out of that childish stage, grown more respect for women and is more matu—is he _chuckling_? He's bloody chuckling! My teeth are grinding. _My teeth...are grinding._

"Stop smirking."

"Only if you go out with me, Evans," he says, and he's bloody grinning, too.

I will pull out his teeth and impale them into his forehead, spelling out the word _wanker_.

"I was joking."

I don't mind a joke now and then. Yes, I'm Head Girl but I'll let my hair down and join in the laugh with my friends. But that..._ That _was not funny.

I don't think I can take this anymore. I need to teach him a lesson - and suddenly, an idea springs to me. It's completely ridiculous. Totally absurd. I'm not thinking it through at all.

"Why don't we make a bet," the words pour out of my mouth. I don't know who exactly is speaking but apparently it's me because it sounds like my voice.

"What kind of bet?"

I daringly move closer to him, attempting to be intimidating. "A bet which involves, if you win, which is highly doubtful," I snort, basically because I never lose, and partly because _I must win_. He winning is not optional, "Me being your girlfriend."

His face lights up like a Christmas tree and I'm aware that he's staring at my lips, but he shakes himself back to reality.

"What's the catch?"

Catch? Oh. I didn't really think of that part. Um...What thing does he love in the whole world that I can take away? Something he'll miss? I can't actually steal a Marauder...though I could fit Peter into the wooden chest beside my bed, but I imagine he would smell.

"You have to give up Quidditch for a week."

Har har! I am victorious! He could never give up Quidditch for a week. I am an evil mastermind!

...I think these Head duties have affected my brain.

"And what if I lose?"

"I shave all you hair off," I smirk. Yes, it's random, but he loves his hair. And plus, no other girl would go out with him if he was bald. Bald men repulse women. It's a fact.

"So, have we got a bet?" I say, and stretch out my hand ready to shake.

...I'm not sure if I can go through this. If I lose this bet, there is a lot to lose. Me, going out with James Potter? It just cannot happen. Maybe James is stronger at resisting Quidditch than I think…I steal a glance at him and he has a frustrated expression, as if he's arguing with his thoughts.

I've decided. I can't go through this bet. It's ludicrous. Me, betting? I'm not a gambling person. I can't believe I even suggested it in the first place.

But suddenly James touches his hand against mine and he's shaking it, before I can pull away. It's too late.

"Okay," he says, without a hint of concern in his voice.

As we're staring each other in the eye, trying to see who will snap first, James startles me by pulling my hand forward and pressing it to his lips. I get a tingle and I'm absolutely furious.

I smack him upside the head. Fool.

"Bet starts tomorrow," I tell him, "Goodnight."

I turn on my heel and flounce up the common room stairs, making sure to act calm by humming. Humming is normal, right? Right?

Oh God. What have I done?

The second I shut the dorm door, I look down at my hand he kissed and somehow find myself not wiping it; even though it's sweaty.

I am so screwed.


	2. Marmalade drippings

**Disclaimer-** I own nothing, except my lack of sanity.

**Chapter 2**

**James **

"YOU DID WHAT?"

I wipe the spit that's flicked on my face - it's like I'm caught up in a tidal wave. People should really have spit control when they shout.

"You complete berk, are you insane?"

This isn't right; I'm the one who normally scolds Sirius for doing moronic things, not the other way round.

I make an unconcerned smile although I'm shitting myself inside. "Come on Padfoot, giving up Quidditch for a week's easy!"

"You can't even give up wanking for a week!" he screams at me.

I punch him in the stomach. It's Monday: Day One of the bet and we're in the Great hall at breakfast. A _public_ place. Must he always speak at a high volume?

"Are you sure you can do this, James?" Remus eyes me with doubt.

My friends really do have little faith in me.

I take a generous bite of my toast and speak with my mouth full as usual. "Moony, it'll be like giving up chocolate for a week, I swear," I reassure him.

Remus shakes his head, unconvinced. "I just don't think you can go cold turkey."

I bark a laugh. "Since when have I lost anything?"

"You've _lost_ your mind!" Sirius says.

Must he always be witty at this time of the morning?

"I've always liked your hair, James," Peter says with a sort of heart-rending dejection. My hair is rather envied by others.

"Wormtail, you're talking as if I'm going to loose this bet," I say with suspicion.

Peter erupts into fake laughter, making me squirm uncomfortably. "Of course not, Prongs! You'll win… But if you don't, we could keep the shavings of your hair in a jar."

That boy worries me.

As I'm about to put a piece of toast in my mouth, Lily suddenly takes a seat next to me, making me miss aim and land bread into my nose. I take a few seconds to blow out the crumbs and marmalade before I casually shoot her a glance as if her appearance does not faze me (though it obviously has).

"Your nose is dribbling marmalade," Remus whispers.

I quickly make another blow and wipe the marmalade trails with the back of my hand, whilst Lily watches me with an amused expression.

"How can I help you, Lily?"

"I just wanted to talk about the bet," she says.

Oh yes! Bloody-twatting-brilliant! She's backed down already! She can't wait a week and wants to make sweet love to me on the Gryffindor breakfast table!

"Why are you unbuttoning your shirt?" She frowns.

It seems as if my hands have already started without me.

"So," I loosen on my tie, "come to say that you've had second thoughts on the bet then, eh?" I smirk.

"No," she eyes me as I stop undressing myself, "I just wanted to go over the rules."

I look at her blankly, "Rules?"

"Yes." She puts her hands together in a business-like manner. "For this bet you must keep away from anything Quidditch. That means no Quidditch practices, matches or any type of actions with a broom."

What does she mean 'actions with a broom'? Does she think I'm sort of broom humper? Does she think I like to do perverted things with a broom?

"I'm talking about flying, you idiot," she rectifies as I voice my thoughts.

"Oh." I rub the back of my neck.

"Also," she carries on, "you cannot touch anything remotely to do with Quidditch. I'm talking quaffles, snitches, bludgers - everything. And that includes magazines and books."

Thank Merlin I looked at that stunning new broom with Sirius last night, five minutes after my conversation with her.

"_If_ you win, I'll be your girlfriend. _When_ I win," I notice greatly the change of diction, "you will be bald. Understand everything?"

"Perfectly," I answer her smugly.

"Well," she grabs an apple from the table and stands up. "Good day, James." I listen to the crunching sound of her teeth biting into the fruit and can't help but wonder if she is picturing it to be my head…

"I think my day will be more than good, actually," I reply, then wave her off merrily.

I turn back to the breakfast table and grab an apple, unexpectedly feeling in apple-fruit-mood. Plus, it reminds me of the colour of her hair.

"I can't believe how calm you are," Sirius shakes his head, "Mate, Quidditch is your life! You're mental," he concludes, then attacks his plate of pancakes that is pushed towards him by Remus. It's funny how easily distracted he is.

"I can predict how this will work out," Remus leans on his elbow with his head in his hand, "This is day one, which is basically when you'll be in denial."

I continue to chomp on my apple and say, "I never really liked Quidditch anyway."

Remus makes a knowing nod, "Then day two is depression."

Suddenly my eyes start watering without my control. I will not cry in a public place, damn mit! "I can't live without my Quidditch," I sniff.

"Day three: panic."

"Oh my God! I can't do this! What if I lose? I'll be bald!" I clutch at my head. "I cannot live with baldness!"

"Day four: anger."

I grab a fork and start stabbing it into my hand.

"Wow, he just went through four days of process within ten seconds," I hear Peter say.

"He's a special case," Remus explains.

That's the nicest thing he's said about me all week.

I admire the holes in my hand, and..._woah_.

"Bloody hell, I think the holes spell Quidditch!" I admire my hand at all angles, then fling it in front of Sirius' face to see. "Look, don't the holes spell Quidditch?"

"Hmm, let's see." He holds the hand at eye level, and then unexpectedly smacks me upside the head.

"Christ, you're already delusional," Sirius remarks, thrusting my hand away and shoving more pancakes in his mouth.

I can't help but feel that this bet will be harder than I thought. And trust me; my thoughts have been pretty pessimistic.

"So, have you told the rest of your team yet?" Remus asks.

I frown in return; I don't particularly want anyone to know. A Quidditch captain quitting Quidditch? That's a tongue teaser...but back to the point. People would go into hysterics if they knew what I was doing, mainly my Quidditch team.

"I told one chaser. That's good enough," I insist.

"That chaser was Sirius," Peter reminds me. Smart arse.

"Well, Sirius can pass the news on to the rest of the team," I say.

Sirius snorts. "No way, mate. I don't want to be the bringer of bad news. Haven't you heard of the whole 'rape-the-messenger' thing?"

_Rape_ the..._what_?

"The phrase is 'shoot-the-messenger'," Remus says. "There is no rape or sexual conduct involved in any way, Padfoot."

Sirius puts his hands in the air, "Whatever. Something to do with a message anyway."

All of a sudden someone taps my shoulder and I flinch. A glimmer of hope in my stomach begs it to be Evans changing her mind, her flinging me on to the breakfast table and ripping all my clothes off.

I turn around and start to unbutton my shirt again.

It's not her.

Shit.

It's my quidditch team. Matthew, the Keeper, standing in front of me with an eager smile on his face. I really don't want to give him bad news and wipe it off.

"Hey captain," he says, then gives some form of salute to me. It never gets old and makes me feel a little better. "So when's the next practice this week?"

The little better feeling is gone.

"Go on, Prongs," Sirius nudges me. "Tell 'em."

I punch him in the stomach again. He really isn't making this any easier for me.

"Tell us what?" One of the chasers, Marlene, asks me. She's crossed her arms with an expression that's insinuating I've done something wrong. Bitchy-ness radiates off her so much that Sirius utters the word "bitch" to prove my point on her emitting.

"To tell you," I take a deep breath, "I won't be playing Quidditch this week."

Dramatic gasps are made.

"WHAT?"

Yes, that seems to be a common answer to the news. Again, much spitting, and it's from more than one person so it's even worse.

At once, questions bombard me.

"Have you been drinking Butterbeer for breakfast again, captain?" The beater, Dominic, makes a knowing nod at me. Great, my players think I'm inebriated. "You know, I've got something stronger in my dorm," he tells me in a murmur. "Muggle stuff called tequila. It really hits the spot."

I look at him indecorously. "Are you trying to buy my affection with alcohol?"

"Is it working?"

"Get away from me before I hit you, Alderson!" I yell at him, "And you better not be drinking before the match against Slytherin next week!"

He hurries off, mumbling something about having 'a shot' before first lesson. Oh good lord…

"Was it something I did, sir?" I look down at Matthew who is, for some very odd reason, on his knees sobbing. "Something I said? I'm sorry! I promise I'll do better!"

What kind of players did I put on my team? They're all from a bloody mental asylum!

"Get up Davies," I order, and he stumbles to his feet. "You're a good player," I reassure him, "A little crazy, but a good player." As I'm about to add some more words of comfort to him, he's rapidly pushed aside by Marlene.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She screams at me.

Yes, some players do have respect for me. Others...well, they treat me as if I'm just another player with no common sense. Or, in Marlene's case, like some sort of dense leader who needs guidance.

"Have you forgotten we've got a match next week, Potter?"

"_Yes_, I do know," I grit through my teeth. I sometimes question my authority, or lack of. "We've been practising hard for the past few weeks and we're in top play. You guys can always practice without me anyway."

Marlene puts on innocent face for the offensive remark I know she'll make next. "Who says _you_ don't need the practice, _captain_?"

I try and exchange a look with Sirius to see if he's thinking how I need to question putting girls on my team, but I hear him murmur beside me, "I'm _so_ attracted to her right now."

He has one track mind.

I get my attention back to Marlene and narrow my eyes at her. "Don't make me make you do laps next practice, Manning."

"But I don't understand," Sara, the seeker, comes forward with a hurt expression. "Why can't you play Quidditch?"

I'm contemplating whether telling them about the bet will avoid Quidditch bats hurled at my head, but swiftly Sirius speaks without my permission.

"He's ill," he says bluntly.

Oh, he did _not_ think that through.

"He better be _dying_," Marlene mutters.

"That's it, Mannings. You're wearing the Dunce Hat next practice."

She makes a scowl and folds her arms. The Dunce Hat is for any one of the players who piss me off and have to wear it for the entire duration flying.

"I am not ill," I say finally with a sigh. "Or drunk," I add. "It's a bet."

The team instantly scoffs and there are phrases of, "Well, it _had _to a bet, didn't it," and "I can _bet_ that I'll kick his arse!" which I assume came from Marlene.

Sara frowns, "A bet? But you're Head Boy. Should you be betting?"

Oh yeah...the Head Boy thing. Forgot about that. Maybe I'm not exactly setting a good example. Oh well, too late now, eh?

"It's for scientific purposes," I lie.

"Don't use science as an excuse, James," Remus tells me off.

When I'm about to apologize, Peter says with extra enthusiasm, "He's doing it to get Lily!"

"Wormtail!" I hiss. I hit him and make him land in his cereal. He deserved that.

"Ah, I see," Dominic has come back to join the conversation in an unusually giggly mood. "It's always to do with Evans."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

Matthew suddenly recovers from his emotional state. "Don't you remember when you used the team to spy on Lily when she had that date with Diggory?"

Remus laughs with disbelief as I crouch low in my seat. "James, when did you do that?"

You're looking at me again with disapprove; I was young when I did that.

"Last month," Sirius says.

Okay, so not that young. But come on, in drastic situations you have to do drastic actions. I'd like to think I've grown more mature since then.

"Captain, why are you chuckling?"

Oh for Christ's sake! Why do I keep chuckling at memories in public? It's starting to get embarrassing.

Just as I'm about to rectify that I was actually 'coughing', I look up and the team have gone, shoulders slouching away with despair.

"Your team is already cracking up without you, Prongs," I hear Sirius say.

Speaking of 'cracking', I think half my team is on crack, to be honest.

I'm deep in thought as I walk with the boys to my first lesson of Transfiguration with McGonagall, replaying the scene with Lily repeatedly in my mind. I may not be able to play Quidditch or go near any Quidditch related objects, but that doesn't mean I can't stop daydreaming in class how good Lily would look in Quidditch uniform.

**Lily**

"YOU DID WHAT?"

I crouch lower in my seat at my friend's sudden outburst. We're in the Great hall for breakfast, and I'm not really feeling that hungry. "Honestly, Carly," I take a sip of my pumpkin juice, "it's not a big deal."

Who am I kidding? Big deal? This is the biggest deal of the deals of the biggest.

"Not a big deal?" Carly repeats ludicrously. I don't like her excitement - she's practically glowing and it's blinding my eyes.

"You're going to be going out with James Potter!" She bursts into giggles like some sort of giggle monster.

I replay over her words.

"That's if I lose," I point out to her sternly.

Carly makes a sigh which signals to me whatever comes out her mouth next will be something I don't want to hear. She leans towards me and says, "You _want_ to lose don't you! _I knew it_!"

Cheeky cow! I cannot believe she just said that.

"No!" I hiss venomously. "Of course I don't."

I'm heating up in the face. What the hell is wrong with me?

Carly starts doing an odd celebratory dance and I threaten her with deduction of house points if she carries on. Yes, I would resort to taking points off my own house to make her stop making me go red.

Just when I start to control the blush in my cheeks, Carly says with a smirk, "I saw you last night, y'know."

Last night? What did I do last night? Did I black out? Did I get drunk and make out with someone in front of the teachers? Did I snog one of the teachers? Oh, _hell! _

"You were looking at your hand," my blonde friend goes on. I somehow don't find myself making a breath of relief. Carly takes my hand and examines it for clues, I'm guessing. I quickly tug my hand away and shove it under my robes. She looks at me suspiciously. "You were acting weird, just staring at your hand with faraway eyes."

"Why? Where's the hand been?"

I snap my head to scowl at my ebony-haired friend Lauren who's kept silent until now.

"Nobody!" I hiss.

Crap! I was supposed to say 'nowhere'! Oh God! Head Girls don't make mistakes like this. I'm about to correct myself but Lauren's suddenly widened her eyes making an exaggerated "_ooooh_" noise of delight.

"Nowhere is what I meant to say," I rectify. "Nowhere," I repeat in a murmur.

"Aw," Carly coos and pulls on my cheek. "You and James make such a cute-"

I pull on her hair before she can finish the sentence; she makes a squeak and carries on eating her pancakes.

"So," I turn to Lauren who is silently smirking, "what do you have to say about the bet, then? Going to lecture me? Tell me how I'm going to lose?"

All my friends are against me! Traitors, all of them! TRAITORS!

"Actually," Lauren takes eats a spoon of her cereal, "I think James Potter will be bald by the end of the week."

...I love my friends. Okay, I love Lauren. Carly can choke on her pancakes for all I care.

"Exactly!" I say. I'm glad one friend believes in me. "Now I know where my friend's loyalties lie," I stick out my tongue to Carly who makes a sneer.

"If you're so serious about winning this bet, why don't you go finalize the rules with him?" Carly suggests. "He's sitting over with the boys," she points a finger down the end of the table where I spot Sirius making peeved shouts. "Go on, then," she pushes me to her feet.

"What, now?" I say nervously. "Wait a seco—"

But I'm pushed forward and stumbling down the aisle between the breakfast tables. I try to muster my dignity and not fall flat on my face; I'm Head Girl, after all.

I quickly take the empty spot next to James, who for some reason is trying to eat bread by stuffing it up his nose. I watch as he blows and wipes until he thinks his face is clean. It's not, and Remus points out his apparent marmalade dribbling. Thank heavens it was marmalade.

"How can I help you, Lily?"

"I just wanted to talk about the bet."

His eyes suddenly light up and he's unbuttoning his shirt—wait, he's actually unbuttoning his shirt? Er, what is he doing? I know I should be worried by this. I ask him why he's doing it and he doesn't answer. Typical Potter. I don't think my sentence of 'I just wanted to talk about the bet' had a hidden meaning of 'strip off all your clothes now'. He must be drinking Butterbeer for breakfast.

"So," he says, and is loosening on his tie as well! What is wrong with him this morning? I mean, not that he's not normally odd. "Come to say that you've had second thoughts on the bet then, eh?"

_He's_ saying it as if he's _not_ having any second thoughts. So that means _I_ _shouldn't _say I have second thoughts because I am _not_ going to be the one to drop the bet and be the weakling.

"No." Thankfully he's stopped undressing. "I just wanted to go over the rules."

He pales like a ghost. Ha, it's clear I've caught him off guard.

"Rules?"

"Yes," I say, and carry on explaining the rules I'd thought over earlier this morning. "For this bet you must keep away from anything Quidditch. That means no Quidditch practices, matches or any type of actions with a broom."

He makes a frown. "Do you think you I do perverted things with a broom?"

Yes. But I say, "I'm talking about flying, you idiot."

"Oh."

"Also, you cannot touch anything remotely to do with Quidditch. I'm talking quaffles, snitches, bludgers; everything. And that includes magazines and books."

Those Quidditch magazines and books are basically like pornography to him. Disgusting - him and that Sirius Black.

"_If_ you win, I'll be your girlfriend." God help me. "_When_ I win," I make great emphasis and change of my words to show that I winning will be inevitable, "you will be bald. Understand everything?"

"Perfectly."

"Well," I stand up and don't know how to make a dignified exit. I make a grab for an apple on the table to amuse my fidgeting hands. "Good day, James." I make a bite into the apple, picturing it to be James Potter's head.

I walk back over to Carly and Lauren who are waiting by the Great hall entrance, Carly looking like Christmas has come early and Lauren looking positively bored. How those two became friends is beyond me considering they are total opposites.

The second I catch up to them and we start walking to Transfiguration, Lauren fixes me with an exasperated but playful look.

"Can you get that kid away from me?" She points at Carly. "She's blabbering on about you and Potter's wedding and what colour bridesmaid dress I'm going to wear."

"Oh no," I groan, "She's going to be like that all week."

"Oi, I'm right here, y'know," Carly pouts. "So, what colour wedding—"

I shut myself off as Carly starts blabbering on about different colours of turquoise or lavender, and what flowers I want and if I want lilies because it matches my name, or maybe I should ask James first for his opinion.

"Permission to hex her?" Lauren murmurs.

"Granted," I answer.

"Ooo, and what about the napkins, Lily? What-"

"Buck teeth or fat arse?" Lauren asks.

"Both," I grunt.

"And what about the cutlery and plate desi—Lauren? Lauren, what are you doing? What—_aaah_! Lily, make her stop! LILY! Make her—_aaaaahh_! Oh Merlin! My teeth! My BUTT! IT'S GIGANTIC! AAAARGH!"


	3. Are you quidditch alright?

**Disclaimer- **I own nothing, except my lack of sanity.

**Chapter 3**

**James**

The madness has begun.

"Turn to page one hundred and fifty four," McGonagall tells the class.

Everyone tilts their heads down to the _apparent_ page of detailed information and incantations on how to transfigure solid objects into liquid. The reason why it's so _apparent _to me is because my Transfiguration book doesn't display the same pages as theirs.

This is some kind of joke, some trick of the mind.

I look down at my book and all I see are double pages of the repeating word of _Quidditch_. The text in the pages of my book just say: Quidditch Quidditch Quidditch_ Quidditch_..."

The madness has definitely begun.

At first I just think it's some sort of misprint. I grab for Remus' book but he has his hands clamped over it very possessively, like he does with all books, so I take Sirius' instead - he looks extremely glad that it's been taken out of his sight.

Sirius' book doesn't say anything about Quidditch. His book is normal. What the hell is wrong with mine?

He quickly snatches his book back which shocks me, but he just stands it up on the desk to use it as some sort of protective hiding shield for him to nap behind. That's too risky to use in this sort of class, especially with McGonagall.

"Black, your ability to read with your eyes closed is impeccable."

Sirius jumps at the professor's booming voice and knocks the book down with his clumsy hand.

"Merely resting my eyes, sweet professor," Sirius flutters his eyelashes.

I blink a few times as I focus on my book. My eyes _must_ be deceiving me.

...Nope, the consistent words of 'Quidditch' are still on the page. I pick the book up and flick through its pages. Every page says the same word. Every. Shitting. Page.

I hear snicker in front of me and instantly spot Lily's red hair. She smirks at me and I can't help but wonder what she's done to me to make her that sadistically happy.

I flick through the book once more.

I'm already loony and it's only first lesson. I could be considered loonier than Lionel Lovegood, and that's saying something.

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling Quidditch alright?"

I drop the book.

...Did she just say _Quidditch_? She said Quidditch! What the hell! Does she know about the bet too? Has she been recruited by Lily to make me crack? Does she want me bald too for all those times I was cheeky in class? The world is against me!

"I'm sorry, what professor?" I look up at her across the classroom with a horrified expression. The whole class is staring at me.

"I said, are you feeling quite alright?"

Oh Merlin, I'm cracking up already. I'm _sure_ she said Quidditch! I'm _positively _sure.

"You do look Quidditch pale, James."

I turn my head to Remus who's looking at me with concern.

"What?" I murmur. "What did you just say?"

"I said you look quite pale."

...He didn't say that. He _said_ Quidditch. I bloody heard him!

McGonagall's looking at me worriedly. "Are you Quidditch sure you don't need to go to the Hospital wing?"

...Okay, she _definitely_ said it that time.

"Did you just say Quidditch, professor?" I ask.

The class sniggers.

"I beg your pardon, Potter?"

"Did you just say Quidditch?"

She narrows her eyes and pushes up her glasses. "Potter, I really do think you should have a visit to see Madam Pomfrey."

Oh, what am I going to say to Madam Pomfrey? Everyone's talking about Quidditch and a Transfiguration book has turned against me, preventing me to learn. She'll send me straight off to St. Mungo's.

I force a smile to McGonagall. "I'm Quidditch-" I pause, realising the mistake of my words. The class erupts into sniggers again and I hear a loud snort. "I'm _quite_ alright, thanks," I reassure her.

I look down as I'm heating in the face and the class is looking at me like I'm retard - I am _so _taking house points off them later. Wait, most of them are in my house… Just the Slytherins, then.

On the way to second lesson of Potions, I'm seeing things. _Odd things_. I'm walking down the corridors with Sirius and Remus and there are things _jumping out before my eyes_. I can't help but stop in my tracks and stare. Students passing the corridor turn into walking Quidditch brooms. People's heads turn into quaffles, people's arses turning into bludgers, peoples' eyes turning into snitches!

"James, are you okay?"

I turn to look at Remus and scream; he is a _talking beater's bat_.

Sirius grabs me by the arm. "Prongs, what the hell is wrong with you?" I continue to stare as the Quidditch bat with gangly human arms as it comes closer to me. "You're acting Quidditch."

_Quidditch?_

"W-what?" I bleat.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Have you suddenly become deaf? I said, you're acting queer."

Phew. Just queer, not Quidditch...Wait, I should be insulted, shouldn't I.

"Maybe you should lie down, James."

I continue to stare at Remus and his new body, horrified, until I blink a few times and rub at my eyelids. Once I open them up, everything is back to normal and there is nothing Quidditch related in the corridor.

"Are you okay now?" asks Remus, noticing my newly calmed state.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reassure him, "Had one too many pancakes for breakfast."

**Lily's POV**

I don't think Carly's talking to me; she's in the Hospital wing recovering from her enlarged backside and gigantic beaver teeth. She gave me the I-will-_never_-let-you-borrow-my-clothes-_ever_-again glare as she was carted off by Madam Pomfrey.

I had to take more points off my own house too. Since Professor McGonagall caught Lauren hexing her, I had to act all disapproving and punish her. Lauren's still talking to me though; she said cursing Carly was worth it.

Aren't we a strange trio?

"Turn to page one hundred and fifty four."

I can't help but snicker as I open my Transfiguration book up. I charmed all James' school books to repeat the same word of 'Quidditch'. Not just a pretty face, eh?

...Why are you giving me the strange look? It was necessary, okay! I will _not_ loose to him!

Oh, _God_. Sirius just called McGonagall 'sweet professor' again. If I were sitting close enough to him I'd smack him upside the head. _And_ he's fluttering his eyelashes. I'd like nothing more than to burn them off.

I turn round in my seat and steal a peek at James. He's flicking through the pages of his book, looking more confused by the second. He tilts his head up and spots me looking at him. Crap! Act as if you are _not_ the culprit! Act _oblivious_!

...Oh dear, there goes my evil smile. Oh well.

Lauren looks at me suspiciously. "What have you done, Lily?"

"_Nothing! _Complete nothingness. What makes you think I did something? I didn't do it. I don't know what you're talking about. I am innocent, I tell you! _I did. Not. Do It_."

Okay, maybe the repetition was a little unnecessary.

"Have you taken your medication today, Lils?"

Honestly! I take one tablet for a headache one morning and everyone bloody thinks I'm taking the morning-after pill or I'm on a high dose prescription for treating sanity.

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling quite alright?"

I turn at the sound of his name. Heck, if everyone else can stare at him, then so can I.

"I'm sorry, what, professor?"

McGonagall didn't stutter and spoke pretty clearly to me. Maybe James is suffering deafness at a young age.

I can see Remus mumbling something to him and James has gone an ill colour in the face.

"Are you quite sure you don't need to go to the Hospital wing?"

"Did you just say Quidditch, professor?"

..._What_? _He's_ asking if _she_ just said _Quidditch_? _Oh_, I am _so_ going to win this bet.

McGonagall asks him what he's just said and he repeats the same question. Wow, he really, _really_ thinks she said Quidditch. He's becoming loonier than Lionel Lovegood. He's a nice chap, just a little...er, what's the word I'm looking for? Um, insane?

"I'm Quidditch-"

Breathe, Lily. _Breathe_. Just try and contain your laughter. Oh bugger, unflattering snort. _Breathe_. Bloody breathe, woman!

"I'm _quite_ alright, thanks," he says finally.

**James POV**

In Potions, I am _not_ alright. I've gone mad again. Just when I think that the Transfiguration mishap was just an once-in-a-lifetime illusion, I'm opening up my book of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and the delusion is back again. It's as if Quidditch threw up on it.

Every word says Quididitch. _Every word_. Every. Shitting. Word. In every. Shitting. Page.

I get slightly distracted by Slughorn's over affection for Lily and the way he closes on her just a little too close for comfort, but then the class has started and everyone's up from their seats making their potions following directions in their books.

I just stand, completely frozen, and completely delirious.

"Padfoot," I murmur. He turns to look at me with a frown. "I think I've gone barmy."

Sirius laughs. "Well, I could have told you _that_ years ago! You were born that way," he explains, "Too many times dropped on the head."

Remus stops cutting ingredients and fixes Sirius with an exasperated look. "Be more sincere, Sirius." Remus turns to look at me. "What's wrong, James?"

"All my books have the repeating word of 'Quidditch' and earlier everyone turned into walking Quidditch brooms."

Remus looks at me with raised eyebrows and slightly backs away from me, afraid my mental condition is contagious. "Maybe Sirius is right," he says weakly.

"Thanks Moony," I grumble, putting my head in my hands.

Out of the corner of my eye, Sirius is looking at me and grabs the Potions book from my desk. I watch as he flicks through the pages and he starts laughing at me mockingly. "You bloody liar, Prongs!"

Liar? I am no liar! I am not guilty of deceit. I haven't lied in _ages_...except for this morning when I fibbed to McGonagall that I was okay when really I was on the brink of insanity. But let's overlook that.

"There's nothing wrong with your book, you tit."

I look at Sirius with confusion. "What do you mean there's nothing wrong with it? All it says is the word Quidditch over and over and over and over-"

"I get your point," Remus cuts in, and then examines the book for himself. He looks back and forth between the book and me until I get annoyed by the head turning and tell him to stop.

"Your book is normal," Remus says, slowly, as if I will suddenly rampage like a wild animal.

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is," he insists, then starts reading aloud the directions of the Babbling Potion we're supposed to make. I'm completely floored; he must be reciting it off the top of his head or something. He can't be reading it from my book.

"Where are you getting all that from?" I interrupt him, grabbing the book back.

I look down at the pages and there are no traces of quidditch. It's ordinary again. It's back to normal. I'm normal and sane again. I'm slightly shaking...but I'm pretty much _sane! Yeah!_

"Oho, what are you cheering about?"

I blanch; everyone (including Slughorn's who just asked the question) is looking at me at my sudden outburst. I need to think of a snappy retort back, but my eye suddenly lands on Snape. Grease rays eject off him and I know he's going to comment.

"I think Potter's cheering because he mastered the skill of counting up to the number ten."

A few Slytherins snigger and Slughorn tells them to hush.

I am going to gorge out Snape's eyes.

I'm going to beat him up and crap in the wounds.

I'm going to...

"Make your potion," Remus interrupts my murderous thoughts. I grumble and scrape back my stool, stomping my way towards the ingredients cupboard. On my way back to my desk, I can't help but gaze over to look at Lily who's tilted her head up to look at me. I can't break my gaze with her, which leads me to walk straight into Snape's desk.

"My, my, a little clumsy today, Potter."

His horrid breath travels over to me and I grimace. "Ever heard of a breath mint, _Snivellus_?"

I see a vein throb in his forehead and I sneer, and then turn my head back over to look at Lily. Unfortunately she's not looking at me anymore and seems to be making forced smiles as Slughorn converses with her; I make a sigh of disappointment. Her ogle-stopping was all Snape's fault, of course.

Snape follows my gaze and cackles. "Still lusting over the girl that will never go out with you?"

I can't believe he's making fun of my love life! The closest contact he's ever got with a girl is brushing fingers against McGonagall's when she was handing back a homework essay!

"And your love life is hardly impressive is it, Snivellus." Sirius suddenly appears next to me, scowling. "Getting hard during Potions. Does Slughorn turn you on?"

"Black always needs to be involved," Snape mutters, and turns his attention back to writing feverishly in his Potions book. He's writing so fast I swear I can see smoke burning off his quill. It unnerves me, and I peek to look at what he's writing but he blocks the page with his hands.

"What're you writing there, Snivellus?" Sirius asks suspiciously. "A romance novel starring your slimy self and a certain Potions professor?"

I see Snape shake with rage, and for a second I think he's going to curse Sirius, but he's directed all his attention on me. Oh how lucky I am.

"I heard about your bet with _her_, Potter," he says, and makes a dirty look over at Lily.

I fully glower; the way he refers to Lily is like she's the filth underneath his shoe. If he calls her a Mudblood one more time I will castrate him.

Snape leans forward, leering. "I can't wait to see your _bald_, _shiny _head reflect in my eyes."

**Lily's POV**

On the way to Potions, Lauren and I pass James in the corridor and he looks at us like we're aliens. It's rather peculiar.

"What's the matter with him?" Lauren frowns.

I look at James and he makes a girlish scream as Remus comes toward him. I'm actually quite worried for him, just a bit though.

"I don't want to know," I say.

We finally get to Slughorn's classroom and the professor bombards me with overfriendly welcoming. He's a nice bloke and we've had many compelling conversations about Potions, but let's just say, too many OHO's can drive you crazy.

"Oho, Lily!"

Talking of the whale.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Lauren about to sneak away but I pull her by her black hair and she squeals, grumpily standing by my side as we take our seats.

I try to look interested as Slughorn goes on about the Babbling Potion we're going to make this lesson, but I feel as if he's _already_ took some of the potion, losing the will to fake notice of him. My eyes keep drifting off to look at James - he looks alarmingly on edge.

What is this feeling in the bottom of my stomach?

Oh God.

It's _guilt!_

I will _not_ feel guilty for him!

...Bugger, it won't go away.

Finally Slughorn directs the class and everyone takes out their books of _Advanced Potion-making_. I glance back at James again and he's opened his book, his mouth boldly open as he looks at the repeating word of 'Quidditch' once more.

Why won't this guilty feeling go away? It's distracting me from learning.

Oh, _fine!_ I'll take the charm off the books. I slip out my wand and point it from across the classroom, muttering the reverse spell.

The guilt has gone, at least. But now I just feel stupid because I helped him, I've helped him have better chances of winning the bet.

I shouldn't be having these dense moments. I'm Head Girl.

Damn James Potter.

I eventually get to work on my cauldron, and following the instructions, my potion looks pretty good. I've worked well considering Lauren's been whispering consistent pleads of 'Help me, Lily! Please! Just do my potion for me! C'mon!'

I'm not denying that I'm good at Potions and enjoy the subject, but I won't do her potion for her and be her personal doormat. I am no ones pushover!

...Okay, I'll help her a bit.

"YEAH!"

...Did James just make that ear-splitting noise?

"Oho, what are you cheering about?" Slughorn questions him.

Again, everyone turns their heads to look at him for the second time today.

"I think Potter's cheering because he mastered the skill of counting up to the number ten."

I shake my head in irritation - Severus Snape is so infuriating. I thought there might be an ounce of compassion inside him years ago, and I stuck up for him in fifth year when no one else did. Hell, did I learn my lesson. All I got was a sneer and a 'filthy Mudblood' remark.

It really hurt.

I beg in my mind that James doesn't let Snape get the better of him. The Head Boy having a fight in the middle of class wouldn't look very professional, and plus, Snape knows deadly Dark Arts. I watch him write in that Potions book, his eyes light up and there's this...glimmer of corrupt in them.

I try and get my attention back to my potion but my head rises again, and I meet James' eyes once more as he walks back from the ingredients cupboard.

This much eye ogling is wrong.

Oh, there we go, James has slammed into a desk. That was bound to happen, pervert.

Oh...it was Snape's desk. Maybe I should go see what's going on-

"How's you potion going, Lily?" Slughorn interrupts in my thoughts.

"Great," I say enthusiastically, feigning a smile. I nod along slowly as he goes on congratulating how impressive my potion has turned out, and steal my eyes away for a second to glance back at James. Sirius is at his side now and looks like he's stirring things up.

Snape's looking at me and my blood's run cold.

I wonder what's going on, but before I know it, the room is filled with laughter and screams.

**James POV**

I'm sitting with Sirius in McGonagall's office.

"What on earth possessed you?"

I lean back in my chair and she notices how I'm trying to make myself more comfortable and breathes out a sigh of anger through her teeth. She reminds me of a dragon: a Hungarian Horntail. Any minute now she'll blacken my face with a ball of fire.

"My sweet, _sweet_ professor."

Out of all the Marauders, Sirius had to be the one to join me punishing Snape.

"Black, I advise you to quit before you're ahead. Flattery will get you nowhere."

"But sweet, _sweet_ professor," Sirius carries on. I'm scowling at him but he's oblivious to it. "He was provoking us."

Merlin, that is such a lame excuse. I think that's the 436th time he's used that one.

"That's the 436th time you've used that excuse," McGonagall says immediately after my thoughts. I'm amazed she's kept count.

Sirius pales. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, I've kept a record." McGonagall slams a stack of parchment files in front of us. I wince - that can't be both of our records for detention.

"No, that's just Mr. Black's pile," McGonagall informs us. "Yours, Potter, is considerably shorter."

This lightens me up a little. "How much shorter?"

"A millimetre."

Oh dear.

"I wasn't expecting you to be in my office now you're Head boy." I can't help but bow my head in shame from her glowering. She has a power over me to make me feel ashamed, much like my mother. "This will be the last time," she says as more of statement. I nod my head glumly.

"You will both be serving detention tonight at seven."

Sirius makes an exaggerated noise of disagreement, as if he's about to cough up phlegm. "But _why_?" he whines.

McGonagall explodes.

"Why? _Why!_ Because you _cannot_ just _throw_ students into boiling cauldrons!"

Sirius looks at her as if to say 'Why not?' and I stomp on his foot.

...I hope Snivellus' skin is melting.

**Lily's POV**

I escape into the common room after a short dinner in the Great Hall because:

1) Carly is back from the Hospital wing and has carried on with the 'Potter Wedding Plans'.

2) Lauren is annoyed at me for messing up her potion in Potions. (It was James potter's fault for distracting me with the power of his mind, so therefore made me add the wrong ingredient.)

3) The chocolate gateau for dessert reminds me of _his_ eyes.

_Don't _you dare ask me who I'm referring to.

I wander over to one of the chairs by the fire, but before I know it I'm surrounded in a circle of people.

"We need to talk," I hear a voice say, and then I am suddenly pushed to one of the darkest corners of the common room. It's quite foreboding and I'm going to request to Dumbledore for more lights in here.

Turning my head in around, I finally recognise the circle of people around me: the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call," I say, laughing nervously.

"This won't take long."

I try to keep my ground and look intimidating.

"Let me go or I'll scream!"

Lily Evans, that was pathetic.

"Look, Lily." Sara, the seeker, comes towards me with a comforting smile. I've always heard she's a nice girl and she looks so harmless and friendly. "Call off the bet or we will rip out your spleen."

Eeek. Aren't appearances deceiving...?

"I don't see how our bet concerns you in any way. The match against Slytherin is next week. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to practice."

Matthew, the keeper, comes forward with glistening eyes. I can't help but wonder if his dedication to the captain goes too far. "We don't want a bald captain," he sniffs.

I puff out my chest, "So you'll think I'll win this bet then?"

I hear a scoff to the side of me.

"Dominic, can you step away from me. You smell of Firewhiskey."

"I do apologize."

Honestly, that guy's got a problem.

"So," I interrupt the silence, "If this conversation is over; I'll be going now." I make my way to push through the circle but arms fling me back in.

"We're not finished, Lily."

C'mon, Evans. You're Head Girl. Don't let them take control over you. Stand your ground and be tough!

"If you don't move I'll tell a teacher!"

Oh God, I really need to think before I talk.

"I didn't want to have to resort to this," Marlene says. She scares me because she's pretty and daunting, not a good combination in any female. Suddenly she reveals a beater's bat from behind her back and I freeze.

"Just call off the bet or you'll have a face like a shovel," she warns, swinging the bat between her fingers.

What was James thinking when he put these..._homicidal maniacs _on his team!

"You're all insane," I murmur.

"Or maybe," Dominic says, "_We're_ all _sane_, and _you_'_re _the one who's _in_."

"No you're definitely insane," I confirm. "Look, I admire you're loyalty for the team but..._you_'_re all nuts!_"

"Or maybe," Dominic begins again, "_We're_ all...not nuts, and er, _you_'_re _the one who's...um, in...nuts?"

"Leave me alone, you Quidditch obsessed weirdos!" I wail, and manage to push myself out of the human circle. I don't stay to fight and run as fast as possible like a coward. Yes, cowards are wimps, but in the end I shall _live_.

"Lily!"

James? When did he get in here? Run, Lily, run! Run for the hills!

**James POV**

By lunchtime, I drag myself into the Gryffindor tower completely exhausted. I've never had trouble eating a meal until now. Seeing potatoes as quaffles and reflections of flying Quidditch brooms in soup is frightening, so I ran off from the Great Hall whilst Peter shouted loudly, "Have you got a tummy bug?"

I'm about to order some first years off one of the common room couches so I can lay down instead, but I hear some furious shouts from the corner of the room. I tilt my head up with curiosity and catch the red hair of my Head girl Lily Evans avoiding the angry wrath of my Quidditch team. I call her name but she's already disappeared through the Portrait of the Fat Lady.

I groan and swiftly interrogate my team.

"Hi, captain!" Matthew salutes me.

"Yeah, whatever," I brush him aside and ask someone saner, "What did you do to Lily? You didn't threaten to beat her up, did you?"

The seeker, Sara, cringes. "I tried to stop them." She points at the remainder of the team, flashes an innocent smile and runs off in a flash. Her seeker abilities make her fast in a getaway, damn her.

"All I did was threaten to hit her with a beater's bat," Marlene says in a nonchalant tone. "I don't know why she looked so upset."

"Sir," Matthew raises his hand patiently as if I'm a professor. I stare at him blankly and finally realise he wants a confirmation from me to speak.

"Go ahead, Davies."

"Sir, all we did was tried to convince her to break the bet off. We don't want a bald captain, sir."

I burst in anger. "Why is everyone so convinced that I'm going to lose this bet?" I scream. "Have you no faith in me?"

Marlene breaks into cackles, repeats the word "faith?" in a scathing tone, then walks off to the other side of the common room to chat with friends, snorting at my stupidity every step of the way.

I'm about to give the rest of the team a piece of my mind but they've disappeared again...except for my fellow seventh year alchy.

"Dominic, you can leave now," I say. He doesn't respond and simply watches Marlene's backside with interest as he bits his lip in what I disgustingly assume is desire.

"Why don't you just ask her out?" I suggest, anything to get that girl to lighten up and become friendlier.

"D'ya think?" he says.

Do I think what, I wonder. But just agree with a "yeah," so he'll leave me alone.

"OI, WOMAN!" He suddenly shouts at Marlene from across the room, bursting my ear drums. The room goes into silence and I'm wondering what on earth he's going to say next. I know it won't be good, considering he started it off with the words 'OI!' and 'WOMAN', which I know from personal experience, women don't like.

"D'YA WANNA SEE MY NOB?"

_Oh, Christ._ He's just asked for a death sentence. I back away from Dominic so people don't think I associate with him. Marlene gives him a death glare, and also to me, which I'm annoyed about because I had absolutely nothing to do with that peculiar chat up line, and I somehow feel my skin burning from her gaze.

She turns around and continues talking to her friends. The room is quiet for a few seconds until everyone starts chatting again as if nothing has happened.

I turn to Dominic, massaging my head. "Couldn't you be more subtle about it, Alderson?"

He frowns at the word. "What do you mean - bend my leg behind my head?"

"SUBTLE NOT SUPPLE!"


	4. Nose grazing

**Disclaimer- **I own nothing, except my lack of sanity.

**Chapter 4**

**Lily**

"I _swear_ I'm telling the truth!"

"Right," Carly says slowly. "James' Quidditch team threatened to _kill_ you. _Sure_."

I am so infuriated. I ran out of the common room to escape the Quidditch obsessed fanatics and find support in my friends.

You just can't find comfort in companions these days.

"I am telling the truth! I swear on Petunia's life...okay, bad example."

"It just doesn't really make much sense though."

Sense... _Sense!_ I was nearly mauled by a girl and a piece of wood, an alcoholic, and someone who's at least two younger than me!

"You're just disagreeing with me because I messed up your potion," I pout at Lauren.

"Lily, it _blew up_ in my face!"

I'd rectify my innocence in that explosion but that would involve me explaining that James Potter distracted me, and Carly would have a field-day about that. Bloody wedding enthusiasts.

I carry on explaining the death threats, "Sara said she'd rip out my spleen."

They burst into laughter.

Now that's just plain cruel.

"You mean that small fifth year? Who's small. _Very small_," Carly emphasises.

"People look taller and more intimidating in the dark," I mumble.

"You were in the common room, Lily."

"We were in a _dark corner_!" I yell, "A very dark corner, damn you!"

Why can't they be the 'yes' friends who agree with everything I say? I hate opinionated friends right now. Damn them and their single-minded selves.

"Lily," Lauren sighs, "I think it'll be a good idea if you just cancel this stupid bet."

"What! Why?" I say in disbelief. "You were the one who said James would be bald by the end of the week!"

Lauren rolls her eyes. "Because the bet is somehow jinxed and a lot of bad things will, and are, happening to you from doing it. Not to mention you'll be on a lot of people's Most Hated People's list. There's already been an _apparent_ attempted murder on you."

Ooo, I noticed the emphasis on the word 'apparent', missy! _Definite emphasising. _

"I will not let James Potter win, damn it!" I yell.

"Okay, Lily, you've made your point," Lauren says. "Now, for the love of Merlin, can we please get out of this closet?"

Did I not mention that? Well, we're kind of hiding in the broom closet away from James' Quidditch team. Let me rectify that: I'm hiding, and I made my friends hide also. You know the whole 'If I'm going down, you're coming with me' thing? That's applied with friends and hideaways too.

"We can't go back to the common room yet," I hiss. "_They'll_ still be in there."

"Technically, the team isn't hunting _us_, so we'll just see you later," Carly says, indicating to herself and Lauren, and opens the door.

"Wait, you can't leave me!" I whine. "Don't make give you detention!"

Apparently threatening your friends with detention does not help.

"Bye Lily. Don't stress out too much," Lauren pats me on the head, shutting the door and leaving be swathed in darkness.

_Well_! I will not sit in this broom closet, cross-legged in a yoga position by myself. _No way_. I will not look like the abandoned solitary!

I will find a friend who will listen to my problems. Someone who will agree with me that this bet has the ball definitely in my court...I've never really understand that saying.

More importantly, I will find Remus Lupin!

"Reeemus," I greet the boy happily, ten minutes later in the scope of the library. He's hibernated into an enclosed corner, his face covered by a book. But I _know_ who he is! I could recognise those bookworm-ish fingers anywhere.

Oh. _Woops_. It's not Remus. The broody girl removes the book from her face and points a few feet to her left, where the real Remus Lupin has already spotted me.

"Reeemus," I say again. I skip over to him and take a seat next the table he's reading, leaning my chin on the palm of my hand. "Am I glad to see you!"

I look at him and he slowly closes his book, sighing. He's making a sort of wince on his face. A _wince_! As if my company is aggravating!

"Remus Lupin, you better not be wincing at me," I say dangerously.

He freezes, paling, caught in the act. My green eyes are more deceptive than they may appear. "I wasn't wincing," he says weakly, "I was smiling." And now he is making a poor attempt at defending himself by making a scary smile.

I observe his face. "You de-winced that."

"De-what?"

"De-winced."

"That's not a word, Lily."

"Yes it is. I made it up."

"If people conjured up words that suddenly appear in the dictionary, then Sirius would have a whole separate dictionary of his own."

I sigh, he's right. He always gets the better of me with his wittier comments. I make another dramatic sigh and pick up his book, flicking through the pages at random.

"What do you want to talk about, Lily? James again?"

I scoff. "What do you mean, 'James again'? I never talk about James!"

I don't. I don't I don't I don't.

"You really are stubborn when it comes to the truth," Remus laughs.

I smack him with his book. If I wanted to be teased I would have just gone to Carly and Lauren.

"You'll never guess what happened, Remus."

"What?"

"Guess."

"Guess what?"

"Guess what happened!"

He rolls his eyes. "I don't know. Just tell me."

"No. Guess."

"Guessing would be unbeneficial and ineffectual. Not to mention that estimating the right answer would be unlikely to happen."

I pout. "Please?"

He grinds on his teeth. "Fine," he gives in. I have that power over the opposite sex. It's hilarious. "You," he waves a hand as though swatting at a fly, "nearly got mauled by a Quidditch team." He laughs as if the idea is absurd.

"Exactly. Did someone tell you?"

He looks at me blankly. "What?"

"I nearly got beaten up by James' Quidditch team. Threatened spleens and everything," I explain.

"You mean I was right? I was only joking."

"It was horrible, Remus," I rest my head on the table. "I hate James."

"No," he disagrees softly, "You don't."

"No, I don't," I agree.

Alright, so maybe I do have a few conversations with Remus about James. He's really the only person I can talk to about him. He's one of James' best friends after all, and I know I can trust him and whatever I tell him he won't pass on to James, but with much sighing and rolling eyes along the way. I suppose I've considered Remus a good friend ever since I found out about his...furry little problem. I wonder who started that saying. I'm sure it was one of the boys.

Finding out he was a werewolf was probably one of the best things that has happened. Well, not for Remus obviously, who went on a boring palaver of insecurities of 'I'll understand if you don't talk to me. I'm a monster' speeches.

Dumbest smart person I know.

But I just wish I found out about it earlier. And finding out about what the Marauders actually do for him, besides pull pranks and be complete pains in the arse. Well, being Animagus...that's pretty impressive.

"Lily, maybe you should just end this bet."

What! Ooo, he's going to get another literature smacking.

He puts his hands up in defence. "I'm just saying, James is really struggling."

"He is?"

He grimaces, "Most definitely. He's been hallucinating and everything. He's a psychiatrist's best subject."

"Well, maybe he'll learn his lesson then," I say smugly.

"What lesson?" Remus asks.

Er...

"I don't know."

He chortles. "You know, there is an easier way out of this pointless bet."

"Just shave off James' head now?"

He shakes his head tiredly at me. "You could just go out with him."

Oh, definite book smacking now!

"Ow, ow, aaargh! Lily!" He complains, as I hit him repeatedly on the arm

I check my watch and remember I have patrolling with James. Bloody brilliant. I won't be late though, unlike James-tardy-unpunctual-Potter.

"I'll see you later, Remus," I tell him, getting up from my seat.

He sends me a slight wave and continues reading.

I get to the exit of the library and he calls my name, "Oh, and Lily?"

I turn around. "What?"

"Don't think it is as a coincidence that you're both working together. Because it's not," he grins.

I grab a book from a nearby shelf and hurl it as his head.

**James**

By seven o'clock's detention, I'm barely hanging by a string. After two hours of trophy cabinet cleaning detention from McGonagall for Has-A-Face-That-Makes-You-Flinch-Filch. And two bloody hours of Sirius' singing Muggle songs I've never heard of from the radio he listened to over Remus' in the summer; I feel like I'm dying. I block my ears as I listen to the badly out of tune song by some Muggle band called 'A baa' with a song title about a loo. What could be so fascinating about singing water down a loo is beyond me. And another song by the same band called 'Dancing queer'.

God help those Muggles.

Right when I'm on my way back with Sirius to Gryffindor Tower and thinking of having an early night, I remember I've got the patrol the corridors with Lily tonight.

Bugger.

I glance at my watch.

Double bugger!

I break into a run and sprint my way to meet Lily outside the Portrait of the Fat Lady, hearing Sirius' distant shouts of, "She's got you on a leash, mate!"

Once I finally get to portrait I expect Lily to scream her head off about my tardiness again, but she just folds her arms and turns her head away as if she hasn't notice I've arrived.

"I'm sorry," I wheeze, "I had—"

"Detention with McGonagall," she cuts in. "I know."

"Have you been waiting long?" I ask.

She scoffs, "No."

"She's been waiting there for at least half an hour."

Lily glares at the Fat Lady for revealing the truth, and I try to hide back a smile. Before I get to ask why she endears waiting for me so long at these meetings, she says, "Come on then. Let's get patrolling already," and drags me by the collar.

She's cut off my air supply but I don't care, her fingers brush against the skin of my neck, and I love it when she's dominative.

"So," I begin, watching as she flings open a broom closet which is fortunately empty, "I hope my team didn't scare you too much."

We carry on walking down the corridor and she tries to look as if my Quidditch team's over protectiveness isn't disturbing.

"What did they say to you?" I ask worriedly.

"Nothing," she dismisses, then quirks an eyebrow, "What did Snape say to you?"

"Nothing," I echo, with a smirk.

If she's not going to elaborate, then neither am I.

I watch her as she peeks behind a statue for any hiding late stragglers. "So, how's your first day of the bet been?"

Hell.

"Brilliant," I lie, with great arrogance. "No problems at all."

"Oh, that won't last for long," Lily smiles, and I can't help but be worried and cower.

Suddenly I hear the sounds of giggling. We spin round, and my eyebrows rise wickedly as I spot Sirius and a brunette exiting a classroom. The second they see us, their eyes widen and they slowly, in a sort of moonwalk, rewind and go back inside as if we didn't see them.

"Um," I stumble, wondering if Lily will just let my friend pass, "Maybe we should just leave them-"

"No," she interrupts, and I grudgingly follow her as she walks over to the classroom door. There's a dramatic pause and Lily's hand moves to the door handle and...

The door won't budge.

I can't help but laugh at the situation, but Lily doesn't appreciate my humour.

"Sirius Black, open this door, right now!" She orders with Head Girl authority.

She doesn't know Sirius is the most stubborn person I've ever met in my teenage life.

"For Christ's sake, Padfoot. We _both_ saw you."

There's more high-pitched giggling and the sound of hushing.

"Don't make me get McGonagall, Sirius," Lily hisses.

At once the door clicks with the sound of unlocking, and Lily and I exchange a grin. Then, I notice we're both so close leaning against the door that if I lower my head just a little we'll be _snogging_ each others faces off.

Of course, that doesn't happen, because Sirius opens the door and we fall smack straight into him and his giggling brunette.

"Bad timing, Padfoot," I mumble sorely.

"I am not Padfoot! I am his evil twin...Padfeet!"

I am trying to comprehend what he's saying but before I know it, he elbows past me and Lily, dragging the giggling brunette by the hand. We watch in confusion as they sprint down the corridor.

"Get back here!" Lily screams. "Get back here so I can PUNISH YOU!"

I force myself not to get turned on.

"Why don't you just take off house points?" I ask.

"Because we're low enough in Gryffindor as it is," she grumbles.

Lily looks as if she's pondering whether to chase Sirius, but takes one glance at her shoes and shakes her head, deciding against it.

We carry on walking down the corridor and Lily flings open another closet door and hits the jackpot - it seems as if we're on a roll catching smooching couples. We watch as the couple carries on kissing for a few seconds.

I never knew a tongue could stretch that far.

What I wouldn't give to be the one doing that to Lily.

As I turn my head to the side and carry on observing, Lily makes a loud cough and the couple forces apart.

Lily gets all Head-Girl-commanding and punishes them, sending them back to their common room

Catching them two at it was such a bad mistake. The atmosphere is so tense and all I can think about is examining Lily's molars.

I get all googly eyed as I peep at her walking beside me.

"What?" she queries. "Have I got some sort of giant zit on my forehead?"

What I wouldn't give to be the giant zit she squeezes…

Lily glances down at her watch and makes a noise of surprise. "Wow, it's getting late. Maybe we should call it a night."

Oh _yes; _bed time. Oh how I love being Head Boy and sharing a personal common room with her, even though I don't see her much because she tries to avoid me. And sometimes I just sleep with my friends in the Gryffindor Tower and she does the same.

But lately the boys have been complaining I snore like a dinosaur.

SCREW THEM.

They don't get to share accommodations with a stunning redhead, do they? Do they, huh? _Huh! _

SCREW THEM ALL.

Once we're outside the portrait of the Head dorms, we both mutter the password at the exact time.

I swear its _fate._

We both tumble inside the portrait, again, at the same time.

Big Mistake number two of the night. We mildly get stuck as it is a clear fact that two bodies going through one doorway will NOT WORK. A lesson to be learnt for all of you out there.

We struggle for a few seconds as our elbows and shoulders collide, but we finally make a breakthrough and pass through the portrait hole. I'm not really feeling that sleepy so I think I'll take a seat in front of the fire.

Problem is Lily has the same idea and we both plop on the same couch, making a sound of surprise as we realise the other has done the same. It may be just me, but I swear this couch just got a couple of metres smaller; so small that Lily and I are touching shoulders again.

"What are you doing sitting here?" I ask, my head straight ahead looking at the fire.

"It's a free country, James. I want to sit here. What are _you_ doing sitting here?"

"I also think that it is a familiar territory."

I keep my head straight ahead and she does the same, because I know if I go to look at her that my gaze will eventually lower without my consent and I'll be looking at her chest and I will be inevitably be smacked upside the head again.

"How do I know that you're just sitting here because I'm sitting here?" she says sceptically.

"How do I know that you're just sitting here because I'm sitting here?" I retort.

Again, at the same time, we turn our heads to look at one another and our noses graze.

Oh _Merlin._

Our noses are just hovering against each other. It's rather odd and peculiar, yet some kind of electricity sparks between us.

We're going to kiss. It's Day One and she's already taken in by the James Potter charms!

"Shit!"

Well, I wasn't planning on doing _that_ particular thing right now.

Lily makes a panicked look and jumps to her feet. "It's late," she states, completely ignoring the nose grazing. I'm rather offended. "We should call it a night," she says as more of an order.

"Late, _right_..." I echo disappointedly. "Sleep…_right_..."

"_Sleep?_"

I nearly cack my Quidditch boxers at the sound of the voice. Suddenly 'Padfeet' appears from behind the couch with an unsatisfied look and me and Lily both jump at least six feet in the air.

"You've been spying on us?" I ask him, narrowing my eyes. "How did you even get in here, for Christ's sake?"

"You told me the password, fruitcake."

Damn it. I really shouldn't make the Head dorm a public place.

"You're going to _sleep?_" Sirius repeats. "I mean, just _sleep? Nothing _else?" He shakes his head, apparently appalled. "If I didn't find this old Hogsmeade chocolate bar from the floor I'd be so pissed off right now."

And on that note, my perverted friend leaves through the portrait, humming.

I'm about to defend myself from being completely separate to Sirius Black, but Lily's disappeared and I hear the sound of her bedroom door shutting with a slam.

**The next day…**

In my first lesson of History of Magic, I'm keeping my eyes open with toothpicks from a bad night's sleep. At least I am actually making an effort to look awake, unlike Sirius and Peter who are actually asleep.

"Padfoot," I elbow him in the stomach. He coughs up a little phlegm but carries on snoozing.

"I have chocolate sprinkled donuts," I sing-song in his ear.

He quickly opens his eyes and looks around for the imaginary donuts that are not in my hand.

"You're twisted," he says, and tries to get back to sleep.

"Padfoot, I need you to be awake to have a conversation with you," I point out, "It involves you listening and then contributing to the conversation."

"What?" He yawns.

I roll my eyes. "Are you actually listening to me or sleeping with your eyelids open?" I question him.

"Quidditch Quidditch Quidditch," Sirius says, "Quidditch Quidditch..."

Oh _hell_. I've gone crazy again! Every word he said was Quidditch this time! Crap! This cannot be happening! I'm going to be sent of to St. Mungo's...The madness has begun again!

"Quidditch Quidditch Quidditch," Sirius carries on, each 'Quidditch' in a different enthusiastic tone. "Quidditch Quidditch," he raises a finger at me.

"Sirius," Remus cuts in, "Please, shut up."

My eyes widen. "Moony? You didn't say the word 'Quidditch' or anything," I state.

"Sirius has been repeating the word 'Quidditch' for the last five minutes to make you believe you are insane."

Wanker.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist," Sirius laughs.

I smack him upside the head.

"Anyway, you saw what nearly happened between me and Evans last night," I raise my eyebrows.

"You mean what _didn't_ happen," he corrects me.

It was going to happen! It was Sirius' presence which ruined it.

"I made my presence known after Lily jumped away from you, dipstick," Sirius scolds me as I voice my thoughts. "It had nothing to do with me being there."

"Well… I… You... Bugger off," I say lamely.

Professor Has-a-face-that-makes-you-want-to-hurl-yourself-into-a-Bin-ns...(that's not one of my best name modifications, I apologize) has started droning on about something uninteresting, as usual, and for once in my seven years of Hogwarts, I am going to try copying down notes in History of Magic.

Are you mad, I hear you say!

Indeed I am.

If I weren't copying notes, which I do the entire time, I would be daydreaming of...Quidditch. Yes, sad, I know.

But I have to stop thinking about that wonderful sport, where you fly high in the sky, breeze running through your hair, a sense of ecstasy reeling up inside you, all problems gone, just you and the broom and...

Good grief. Am I getting turned on by Quidditch? Maybe this break from the sport will do me good.

I nick a piece of parchment of Remus and run a hand over it to smooth it.

"What are you doing?" the werewolf interrogates me.

"I'm going to make notes," I say enthusiastically.

"You mean doodling?"

Har har. He's a riot, that one is.

"No Moony."

"You're going to write notes...to Sirius?"

Oh, he's on a roll.

"No, notes about what Binns is talking about/"

Remus quirks an eyebrow, "And what exactly is he talking about?"

Uh...Goblins? Wars?

"Goblin wars?" I guess.

"Good guess," Remus grumbles.

Bloody lucky guess.

I rub my hands together, crack my knuckles, and stretch my arms...

"What are you warming up for?" Peter's eyes me.

I redden and decide to get down to business. Grabbing an old quill from my bag I pick up the date '1543' from Binns and decided it might be useful and write it down. Although I have no idea what the date is relevant to and what exactly happened then. Who cares?

I write the word down. Number fifteen...

...Why did I write down a 'Q'?

I must be tired. I cross the letter out and try and write the numbers down again.

...Why is the quill writing another bloody 'Q'? What the hell!

I'm trying to write 15 but...aargh! What the…why is it…AAARGH!

The word 'Quidditch' is staring at me down on the parchment.

I just wrote Quidditch when I didn't want to write it in the first place.

Okay, okay, _just calm down_. You're overacting. How about writing your name first?

Write a J...Write a J, dammit! WHY ARE YOU BLOODY WRITING A Q! STUPID HAND! STUPID QUILL!

Shit. I've wrote Quidditch again. My name is officially Quidditch.

"Oh yeah, James," Remus snorts, eyeing my parchment, "That's really writing insightful notes."

"GAH," I yell. Not caring if the whole class looks at me at my outburst.

Insanity, party of one, your table is ready!

**Lily**

I _cannot _believe what nearly happened last night.

It was really bad.

We were so close to doing... Gah, I don't even want to think of what we might have done. That nose graze was practically electrifying. I swear you could have lit a fire or something.

It must never happen again. I have to be more careful. _Much more careful._

"Talk about panda eyes, Lils," Carly says, joining a seat next to me at the breakfast table.

"Rough night in the Head dorms, eh?" Lauren snickers.

I grumble, "I hope you both get eaten by house elves." I pick up a spoon and admire my reflection, and when I say 'admire', I mean scowl and sling the spoon into a passing second year.

"I didn't have much sleep last night," I say vaguely. "By the way, the Head dorms password has been changed." I murmur the new password to them. I know I'm a hypocrite for telling them but who cares, James will never know.

"Why's it been changed?" Carly eyes me sceptically.

"James told Sirius the password, the idiot. He just appears behind the couch and makes us jump behind our skin. Practically interrupting—"

I stop dead. Interrupting what? He wasn't interrupting! There was nothing to interrupt! NOTHING WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

Too bad my friends had already picked up on what I was saying.

Carly smiles. "Interrupting…?"

"My quiet time," I smile back.

Ha, one nil to me.

"You said 'us'. Who were you with? James?"

Bugger. One all, then.

"Yes," I redden. "We were just sitting on the couch by the fire—"

"How romantic!" Carly declares. Sappy cow.

Lauren's eyes widen. "You mean the love seat?"

"The what?" I echo.

"The _luuuurve_ seat," Lauren drawls.

"It's called a couch," I correct her.

"No, it's a love seat. That's the proper name," she says matter-of-factly.

"Well… I… You... Bugger off," I say lamely.

Carly impatiently taps her fingers on the table, waiting for me to go on. "So?"

"So," I echo childishly.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Jesus, Lily. What happened?"

I massage my head in thought. "Okay, if I tell you," I pause, "will you promise not to tell anyone?"

My friends' eyes widen at my serious tone and nod their heads eagerly.

"No interruptions," I say sternly.

They nod again.

"Well, we were on the couch-"

"Love seat," Lauren corrects.

"Oh, damn you!" I say tiredly, standing up ready to leave.

"Lils, I was joking," Lauren laughs, "Go on."

I pull a childish face at her and sit back down again. "We were on the couch and—"

"Did you do _it _on the couch? Oh Merlin!" Carly shouts.

"No! Shut up, loud mouth," I scold her. "Our..." I pause and the both of them lean in, eyes bulging, "Noses grazed."

Their reactions are baffling.

"Um, that's nice," Carly says weakly, but the look she wears is disappointed.

"Your noses...grazed?" Lauren echoes, biting her lip. "Your noses...grazed. How scandalous!"

I fling my toast at her. ""Well… I… You... Bugger off!

By first lesson of History of Magic, I am completely knackered from my night of no sleep, but I'm still managing to copy notes that Binns says because I'm good at multi-tasking.

"GAH!" I instinctively hear James shout from the back of the class.

Hehe. I charmed his quills to only write the word 'Quidditch'…


	5. Pirates wear quidditch boxers

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Chapter 5**

**James**

"Prongs, why are you whimpering?"

Goodness, what's wrong with me. Snap out of it, Potter!

An unflattering sob escapes my mouth and I swear if I was wearing that make up stuff girls plaster to their eyelashes -mascara, I think they call it- which I most definitely am not; I would have black trails down my cheeks.

I sniff loudly, which I have to do otherwise a big trail of snot would dribble on my upper lip and Evans would see, and my chances of going out with her would be lessened even more.

"Quill..." I mumble, incoherently.

It's my last class of Tuesday, Day Two of the bet, and I'm already reduced to tears. Clearly everyone is disturbed by a crying person, more specifically a crying _boy _in the middle of Charms.

Every bloody lesson it's been writing that game. I'm starting to hate the word Quidditch….no, wait! I take it back! THAT WAS A LIE.

Ahem.

I merely hate the letter Q. I hope the letter Q gets strangled by its neighbours P and R. I've always liked those letters. They're in my name and they're normally reliable, not when they refuse to go down on parchment and write stupid effing Quidditch instead.

"Well, if you wanted to borrow my quill, all you had to do was ask," Sirius says, looking at me with disgust as he wipes his snot ridden arm.

…What! I ran out of tissues, alright! Hogwarts doesn't have those muggle tissue boxes like the ones that are around Remus' house in every room. The kitchen, the living room; you name it, a tissue box is there.

I should really carry around a handkerchief.

"Your nose is dribbling again, Prongs."

I swear I've never looked so pathetic in my life.

…Except for that one time I tried to serenade Evans by dressing up as that apparently popular muggle singer: Elvis. Except I got his name wrong, and apparently 'Elf-is' is quite insulting to such a talented musician.

"My quill," I explain, "It's broken."

"Broken?" Peter queries. He picks up the quill on top of my two pages of parchment of 'QUIDDITCH QUIDDITCH QUIDDITCH J-QUIDDITCH…' and taps it on his desk, then shakes it as if doing _that _will suddenly make it come out of its lunacy.

"Oh, James must have _forgotten _the technique of tapping the quill into repair," Remus says dryly.

Nope, I tried that particular action. I banged that quill at least thirteen times against my desk, hoping it would work, and successfully making the professor's eye twitch thirteen times at the recurring sound. Obviously thwacking doesn't help the situation, unless it includes a Quidditch beater's bat and a very foolish friend.

"Borrow one of mine," says Sirius.

I'm a little debatable on taking it, unsure where his particular quills have been. I've seen him a shove a quill up his left nostril when he was picking his nose once. He denies it, but I saw him!

Sirius notices my dubious face. "I put extra bogies on it for you," he teases. "Don't chew the end."

"Yeah, because I really wanted to chew the end of something that's been up those dirty black holes you call noses," I retort. I examine the quill's end and find it already chewed apart, shooting Sirius an eye roll.

Flexing my fingers, I put the quill to parchment and I can write again! Hooray! I can resume learning… Good grief, I'm happy about continuing learning. There's something I thought I'd never say.

Ah, there's those letters I've missed writing thanks to that stupid broken quill! I see an L on the parchment. Oh, how I've missed you letter L! And oh look, there's the letter I! And another L! Oh, and the letter Y! And…wait a second. What on earth is my hand writing?

I watch my hand write as though I'm in an outer body experience, and before I know it, the name 'LILY POTTER' is spelt out on the parchment.

Well, seems like my little crush has is more serious that I thought…

"Oh, that is SAD, Prongs."

I jump at the voice and find Sirius chortling into his hand, eyeing me as though I'm pathetic, which I must be, because I'm writing Lily's name with my own surname…

"I don't know how that got there," I mumble, flushing. Sirius continues to laugh at full volume, and I implore him with my eyes to shut up, but unfortunately it's too late as the professor makes his way to our desk at the back of the classroom, narrowing his eyes.

"There seems to be quite a ruckus going on back here," says the professor, "Have you done any work this lesson, Mr. Potter?"

My eyes widen as he snatches the parchment from my desk; the parchment of unintelligible gibberish.

Looking amused, the professor reads my work out to the class.

"Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch," he raises a brow at me as I smile weakly, "J- Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch …"

I can't stand it anymore, and notice Lily out of the corner of my eye dying to laugh. _Everyone _is dying to laugh. I can literally see someone choking from holding back laughter. "Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch, oh," the professor pauses, looking surprised, "there seems to be a different word here: 'Lily Potter'."

The class falls into silence as everyone stares at me.

And this is the precise moment I choose to stab myself with Sirius' bogey quill.

**Lily**

I'm in James Potter's dorm…when James Potter isn't present.

This isn't good, is it?

My friends made me come here! I know that's a pretty lame, cliché excuse. But in this case, it's completely spot on. Secretly I think Carly the wedding enthusiast just wanted me to come in here, get caught by James, then have wild romping sex on his bed.

Like that would happen…that bed is rather small and-…THE IDEA OF WILD ROMPING SEX IS COMPLETELY OUT OF THE QUESTION.

Yes, better get that idea out of the brain. Yes, out, Lily. _Out_.

Lauren convinced me that James might be hiding Quidditch objects in his room. It's a definite possibility though. If there are even inklings that James is doing Quidditch related things during this bet, I will be furious. Thus, whatever Quidditch object I find in his room will be confiscated.

And that is why I'm staring at the open drawer filled with his underwear, gazing at his Quidditch boxers.

I mean…am I suppose to confiscate _them_?

Even though I created this bet, I'm so confused that I don't even know myself. On one hand, they are Quidditch related. On the other, they're just underwear. What is a redhead to do?

They are rather…_cute_, you could say. I'm more inclined to knickers with cuddly bears and such, but the little golden snitches flying around the boxers, with those tiny little wings; I can't help but smile…but then an image of James wearing them comes up and IT IS WRONG. VERY WRONG INDEED.

With my wand, I prod the underwear.

What! You never know, they could suddenly combust. Never underestimate what is behind a boy's briefs, in more ways than one.

With a second prod, I jump when the explanation to the odd and _alive _bulge in the boxers happens to be a chocolate frog.

Well done, Lily. You've wasted a large amount of valuable time admiring James' undergarments. Now, hurry up a bit or you'll be late to Charms.

I glance around the room, desperately trying to distinguish what things are. It's rather difficult in a room covered in _filth_. I mean, Merlin, what does it take for a boy to pick up something from the floor? Clearly James has decided _not _to do this on at least a billion declines, leaving his room with mountains of dirty clothes. I have to literally climb over miniature Mount Everest's of t-shirts to cross the room to his wooden chest.

Once I get to the chest, I bend down and open it up, instantly overwhelmed by a puff of smoke that escapes. The smell is so bad something unmistakably died in there.

Using my wand again, I search and prod around in the chest. Let me see…bingo! Some Quidditch magazines!

…is that a girl _riding _a _broom_? What kind of disgusting position is that? She's not even wearing underwear! Merlin, that disgusting little Potter pervert! I'll definitely be removing that 'reading material'!

…because if he touches them it, it will be against the bet…not because I'm in any way annoyed, like, say, a girlfriend, because he looks at other half naked women. _Nope_.

Wait, I should leave the magazines in there! That way, if I catch him 'reading' them, he will lose the bet and become hairless! And I mean hairless in the upper region. And by upper region, I mean the head.

Although… I have this odd overwhelming feeling of fury in the pit of my stomach which may possibly mean that I am _annoyed _at him for looking at a girl who is riding a Quidditch broom, in the wind, that is blowing up her mini skirt, while she is wearing no knickers.

Right. Just leave the magazines there, Lily.

My wand swishes, and the Quidditch magazines fly out of the chest and hover beside me.

Oh. Looks like I'll be confiscating them after all, then. My wand hand has the habit of not obeying my brain.

I'm a little apprehensive to what else I'll find in the depths of this wooden chest. Continuing to search with my wand…Aha! A broomstick! Jackpot! That's definitely going in the 'Confiscation' floating pile, along with his magazine filth.

And what else do we have here? A 'Broom Servicing' kit! Good grief, it's not a muggle car for goodness sake. What service does a broom need? It's a sodding stick! I found one in the park the other day! Woop-dee-doo!

…Oooh dear, receiving warnings of a migraine. I think I've done enough Quidditch scavenging for today, and plus I'm late for Charms, too. I better make a quick getaway and assemble the dorm to look as if I've never been in here, which basically means I have to mess the room up to its original condition, because whilst I was here I couldn't help but tidy it up due to my cleanliness attitude.

I'll just kick a few things and hurl a few articles of clothing around, then the room will be back to its pig sty state.

Right. Depart, Lily.

Just as I make it to the door, I freeze, a sudden thought coming to me:

What about those Quidditch boxers?

Oh, yes, I remember I decided _not _to take those.

…Or should I?

Well, it's not as if they're dangerous; far from it. I might as well leave him with one memento to remember his beloved sport. Something he can clutch (or wear…or both) at night in those hours of need.

Yes, I'll leave James the—oh, bugger! What is my hand doing now? My wand carries out a recognizable swish and the Quidditch boxers zoom out of the drawer and on top of the magazine pile.

…

Oh well. Better not argue with the mighty wand hand.

Humming, I skip to my dormitory, making the Quidditch junk follow behind me. Once I'm in my own dorm, I deposit the broomstick, the useless broomstick kit, the, er, _rather cute _boxers, and finally those disgusting magazines, into the wooden chest at the bottom of my bed. I slam the chest shut, dust my hands with a smug expression, and secure the chest with a nifty locking spell.

I've done the right thing.

Hurrying to Charms, I make it to the classroom just as the lesson begins and heave for breath as I take my seat next to Lauren and Carly, collapsing on my stool.

"Where've you been?" Lauren interrogates me.

I make sure to lower my voice as the professor is talking. "I've been where you told me to go," I murmur.

She looks at me blankly.

"James' room," I remind her. "Scavenger hunt for Quidditch junk, remember?" Again, she shows no signs of remembrance. "It was your idea, Lauren."

She groans. "I give so many good ideas it's hard to keep track these days." Her eyes light up. "I should document them!" I watch her as she grabs her quill and scribbles on the back of her hand, muttering, "Tuesday the 18th - Quidditch junk scavenger hunt idea. Initiative given to Lily Evans. Fee of one galleon—"

"I'm not giving you a galleon-!"

"Do either of you remember what that idea was which I thought of at breakfast this morning?" Lauren suddenly asks, pointing the end of her quill to her chin.

"Water filled bras," I prompt, trying to focus on what the professor on about.

"Oh yes." I watch Lauren scribble some more on her handy notebook: her skin. "I don't see why they haven't been made already. It wouldn't harm the environment."

"They'd be easy to puncture," Carly says. "Just imagine Sirius Black trying to grope some boobs and shooting water in his face."

I giggle, and the professor directs a cold stare at me. _Ouch_.

"You'll never guess what I found in James' room," I whisper once I'm convinced it's safe to speak again.

"Porn," Lauren immediately answers.

I was about to mention James' Quidditch boxers, but I then realise just how insane that would sound.

"Well, it said it wasn't actual pornography. Apparently they are catalogues with certain people modelling Quidditch brooms; though I'm highly unconvinced, as I don't think it's necessary for a girl to pose in such a vulgar position with no knickers on."

"Lingerie," Lauren corrects me. "Honestly, Lily, I can't believe you still say 'knickers'…"

While jotting some notes down from the professor, I notice Carly looking at me with an expectant gaze.

She's going to ask me whether I had wild romping sex with James on his bed.

"Did you have wild romping sex with James on his bed?"

"Carly," I sigh, "You've seen James here all this time. Of course not." Carly raises a brow, and my eyes widen. "And I'd never even consider it!" I whisper, turning a furious red.

Trying again to concentrate on writing, my patience is tested when I hear the sound of a quill being thwacked on a desk. _Twelve bloody times_. I glanced behind me and spot James…crying? Oh good God. I have pushed him over the edge with that charmed quill.

I've made a boy cry.

Heh heh. That's quite an accomplishment, if I do say myself!

_Thirteen times now._

Maybe I should fix his quill…

…_Nah_.

Hearing a Sirius Black chortle, I watch the professor march to the back of the class, expecting some sort of commotion to take place.

"There seems to be quite a ruckus going on back here," I hear the professor say. "Have you done any work this lesson, Mr. Potter?"

James' hands reach out to grab the parchment, but it's too late, and the professor begins to read.

"Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch …"

_Oh, ho ho _. This is too funny. James is turning red. Do not laugh, Lily. Do. Not. Laugh.

"J- Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch, oh," the professor pauses, and I look up from laughing silently into my hand, "there seems to be a different word here. 'Lily Potter'."

….I beg your sodding pardon?

Lily…_Lily _WHAT?

However, I cannot ask that twatty balls any question as he stabs himself in the eye! I mean, _come on_! What kind of ridiculous diversion tactic is that and—oh my God, he's bleeding! HE'S BLEEDING!

**James**

"Madam Pomfrey, is the bandage really necessary?"

Bloody hell. Why is everyone making such a big deal about my injury? Yes, _technically _it was a little dangerous of me to stab my eye with a quill as a diversion tactic, and _technically _I could've ended up being permanently blind…

Seriously, thank Merlin for Madam Pomfrey and magic, or Padfoot would be on a dog lead and declared officially as my guide dog, and somehow I can imagine him leading me off a cliff and falling into a canyon.

"Yes, the bandage is necessary, Mr. Potter," she replies, wrapping the white bandage over my eye.

So, basically I look like a pirate.

…screw you! I saw that laugh! Why is the image of me looking like a pirate so bloody funny?

"Madam Pomfrey, are you sure that making wear this…_extremely _muggle-like bandage over my eye is not just, say, _payback _for the times I spat out foul potion in your face?"

I think it's a pretty good theory. I can't even count the number on my fingers, the amount of times potion has spurted from my lips. It's not my fault though; medicines should be made to taste nice so to avoid spurting.

The witch holds a stone expression. "I can't say I have enjoyed you using my _face _as a sink to _spit _the insides of your mouth at, Potter." She wraps the bandage tighter in my eye and I mumble an "Ow."

"Potter, I don't think you fully realise what you've just done." She steps back to admire her handiwork that is making me look like a buccaneer. "It was extremely foolish of you to just," she pauses, struggling to find the words, "I mean - to _stab _yourself in the _eye_!"

I cringe. "It won't happen again…"

All of a sudden, she looks sad as she pats me on the shoulder, and I'm a little afraid of what's going on in that head of hers.

"I think you should look at some leaflets," she says.

Leaflets? Oh hell, _no_. What lunacy is going to happen now?

"Here," Madam Pomfrey shoves some parchment in my hand. "I think you should look over these."

My sight comes across one of the titles of the leaflets: 'SO YOU TRIED TO KILL YOURSELF…'

Oh no.

And another one: 'TIPS ON HOW TO _NOT_ FEEL LIKE YOU WANT TO ATTEMPT SUICIDE.'

Well, I've royally buggered this up, haven't I?

"Madam Pomfrey," I start, pushed towards the exit of the oak doors, "It was just a diversion tactic!"

However, she doesn't hear me as she pushes me out of the Hospital Wing, sends me a worried grin, then waves me off and slams the oak doors shut.

Oh, she _better not _write home. Mum would kill me.

I immediately spot Lily waiting outside the doors, and watch her hurry towards…me? _She's _hurrying to _me_? Surely my pirate bandage is deceiving me!

"James," she says, oddly soft, "are you o-…" She stops, and I grown inwardly as she examines my bandage. "You look like a," a chortle escapes her mouth, "a…pirate."

"A, er, sexy pirate?"

…Stupid mouth.

"No," she disappoints me, "One of those sleazy pirates that are permanently rat-arsed on rum."

Some are perceived sexy.

We make our way back to Gryffindor Tower, and I watch as Lily purses her lips and holds back from saying something.

"Go on," I sigh. "I know you're dying to say it."

"Say what?"

"The pirate joke. Go on, say it."

She grins, and covering one eye with the palm of her hand, she shouts, "Aaaaarr!"

I have to say…it's cutest thing I've ever seen.

Obviously it was cheesy and not exactly the most awarding witticism, but I love how her lips curve into a smile and her eyes glint when she laughs. I can't help but be taken in by the adorability of Lily Evans, and laugh along with her, which instantly makes her stop.

"Why are you laughing?" she demands. "You're not supposed to laugh, James. It's a joke at your expense." This makes me laugh even more.

"You just looked so cute—"

"Don't make me stab your other eye, Potter."

…yeah, I hate her little mood swings, too.

"James." I become more alert as she uses my christened name. I much prefer the airy, illustrious 'James' rolled off her tongue than an angry bark of 'POT-TER!' "Are you okay? Is your eye alright? What did Madam Pomfrey say?"

"Yes, and yes," I answer her first two questions. "And finally, she thinks I attempted suicide."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, wounding your own eye isn't exactly normal, is it?"

"It was a diversion tactic!" I rectify again.

She suddenly looks embarrassed. "From writing my name with…your surname…"

I gulp. Buggerbuggerbugger! Diversion tactic number two, James!

"Why did you wait for me outside the Hospital Wing?"

Bingo!

She looks flustered even more, but tries not to let the question faze her. "I'm Head Girl, James. I was the one to drag you to the Hospital Wing in the first place and clean up the blood you dripped down the corridors."

"Not because you care about me, then?"

"No."

"I'm pretty sure I heard a scream from your lips back in that classroom."

"I don't like blood!" She crosses her arms, looking infuriated, and suddenly turns my way. "You used one of those diversion tactics again!"

"At least I didn't stab myself in the eye, eh?" I get no reaction out of her, as she stares ahead. "Eh?" I repeat. "Eh, eh?" I elbow her.

"Shut up with your Eh's," she says, though I distinctly feel affection in her tone. "You're injured, so you might as well lose the bet now already."

I scoff, as if a bandaged eye will lessen my chances of winning!

"I don't think so."

"Seriously, James, don't ever injure your self like that again. You scared me."

…er, what?

Without warning, we've stopped in a corridor and I'm very aware of Lily Evans touching my bandaged eye with her delicate fingers.

"Are you sure your eye is okay?"

Oh dear, I'm getting a little flustered. Why is she being so sincere all of a sudden? And why are her hands so soft…so soothing against my bandage and…ow!

"Sorry!"

"Prodded a little too hard there," I chuckle nonetheless, gently holding her wrist. Her hand lingers by my face a little longer as I hold it, and we do all familiar gazes at one other. Unexpectedly, as I let go of her hand and she puts it down to her side, one of her fingers accidentally brush my lips on the way, and she flushes to the full.

"I better go," she says, already hurrying down the corridor. "Bye, Pirate Boy!" She makes a wave above her head, taking no time to look back.

It's a shame. I was looking forward to a momentary look exchange.

See, why couldn't I have a fascination for blondes or brunettes? Redheads are so unpredictable…

**Lily**

So…James looks like a pirate. That's a new development, eh?

Ugh, I hate saying 'eh'! James says 'eh' a lot. It's a stupid habit I've picked up from him.

But back to James looking like a swashbuckler.

…he looks like one. Evidently, he hasn't got a parrot on his shoulder or wears one of those funny looking hats, but he's got eye patch, and that's swashbuckler enough for me.

Who would've thought James looked kind of-…

Oh my goodness, was I about to say a word that would make him seem _remotely attractive_?

Oh no…I was about to say 'endearing'! I was about to say the words 'James Potter' and 'endearing' in the same sentence!

I sigh as I stare at the ceiling of my dormitory, currently lying across my bed. My school clothes are getting wrinkled.

What just happened back there with James? I practically groped his eye, for Merlin's sake! What on earth was wrong with me? Stroking eyes isn't normal.

Not to mention James is thinking of…the 'M' word. _Girls _are supposed to be obsessed with marriage! And we're not even going out yet!

Oh God, Lily, you just said 'yet'! _Why _did you say yet? There is _no _yet! 'Yet' should never have been mentioned!

I'm going insane. _And _I can feel a migraine coming.

Refusing to comply with my thoughts of having a nap, I strangely find myself standing to my feet and walking over to the wooden chest of James' belongings. Opening it, my hands search until I find a particular entity:

James' Quidditch boxers.

And I'm not even holding them with my wand. My fingers are actually touching something that was touching James'…_uuuuurgh_. Mental images, mental images, _men-tal images_…

Cocking my head to one side, I again admire the decoration of the underwear and feel a smile creeping on my lips. They just look so…sweet. The underwear is too appealing for a boy to wear. Those cute little snitches flying about (the beauty of having magic underwear: the fact that you can have moving kittens on your undergarments) and those little broomsticks zooming all over the place.

Uh oh, I can feel a sneeze all of a sudden.

Must find a tissue. Must find a tissue…damn it, why isn't there any tissue boxes in Hogwarts?

Oh God, seriously, I'm going to sneeze!

As I let off a loud "_Achooo_!" my head jerks forward and before I can prevent it, my head and nose are in James' boxers, which I'm currently holding in my hand.

"Lily, have you seen my—"

James Potter has just chosen to enter my dorm, without knocking.

Ten galleons on the following conversation being awkward.


	6. Man knickers and loo roll

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

**Chapter 6**

**James**

I think my brain has exploded.

I can actually see brain splats on the walls...

Well, what you know, brain splats don't actually involve pain whatsoever. Just...numbness.

As I'm standing in the doorway of Lily's dormitory, staring at Lily who is...sniffing...my underwear...I use this uncomfortable silence to rewind back to precisely how I got to this moment.

Earlier, I had watched Lily scamper down the corridor, her little adorable bottom bouncing along until she was out of sight, leaving me to ponder if her nickname of "Pirate Boy" for me had any inklings of adorability or fondness behind it.

I'd hazarded a guess of 'no', and decided to retreat back to the Gryffindor common room.

"Aaaaar, matey!"

It seemed as if every member of the Gryffindor House also had the same amount of mind-numbing humour as the endearing Lily Evans.

"Ahoy there!" the Quidditch beater of my team, Dominic, had yelled, covering one of his eyes. I promptly hurled a cushion at him, and he ducked, because apparently beaters of Quidditch teams are used to incoming objects. Bloody talented sportsman. "Oh, you're wearing a pirate eye patch! My greeting of "ahoy" was quite appropriate, then."

I stared at him. "...You mean, you _didn't _notice I looked like a swashbuckler before?"

Dominic grinned in return. "No, I say 'ahoy' to everyone!"

I blinked, and watched him skip up the staircase to the boys' dormitory singing a pirate tune.

"Oh Merlin...remember, he has Quidditch talent," I muttered to myself. "He is a complete utter moron, but he can damn well hit a bludger... Do not kill him to save his parents the disappointment that he will be nothing more than a monkey all his life..."

"_AR HAAARR_!"

I turned to the sound of the famous pirate laugh and discovered my three fellow Marauders. I would've smiled at their appearance if they weren't wearing grins and holding a hand over each eye.

"That is the _twelfth _time I have heard that pirate joke in _ten minutes_," I told them. "Find some wit, why don't you!"

Sirius scowled. "Did Madam Pomfrey shove a stick up your bum while she was putting that eye patch on you?"

I sighed, collapsing my head onto a chair arm. "Why must redheads be so difficult?" They weren't fazed by the out of the blue, irrelevant question. Irrelevancy is my forte.

"It's your own fault," Sirius said, taking the chair opposite me. "You have such an awkward, fussy taste in women! You either like redheads with accompanied fiery tempers, or pretty oriental girls."

"Especially pretty oriental girls that don't speak English," Peter quipped.

I stroked my pirate eye. "She caressed my bandage..."

"I beg your pardon?"

It seemed as if I was a little too vague for Remus.

"Me, her, standing in the corridor," I listed, "deep momentary eye glancing, bandage caressing," I used my forefingers to act out the legs of her escape, "Skedaddling."

"God, you mention deep momentary eye glancing every day with Evans. Have you ever wondered if it's just friendly eye contact?"

I glared at Sirius. "She was undressing me with her eyes."

"Undressing your bandage with her eyes," Remus corrected me.

"Same thing." I wanted to be in the company of my friends before, but then, I just felt like being a hermit and retiring to my dorm. All the bad luck involving unintentional accidents of stabbing eyes and kissing that should have occurred between me and Evans, was all due to the fact that I was not wearing my lucky underwear. This morning, I had decided to wear my red boxers with the cauldron cakes printed across them. My lucky underwear was my favourite Quidditch boxers.

I needed to change my underwear.

"I'm off," I told the boys, rising from my seat.

"You're unripe?" Peter said confusedly.

"No, he means he's leaving," Remus explained. "Bye, James."

"See you later."

"Can I just say one more pirate lingo before you leave?"

I sighed at Sirius, "If you must."

"Shiver me timbers!"

He's such a twonk.

Entering the Head Tower, there were no signs of Lily – the door of her dorm was shut. I thought better to announce my arrival with the usual "Honey, I'm home" and went straight to my own dorm, right up to the underwear drawer.

Immediately, I knew something was wrong. The drawer was open. The underwear drawer was never open - I mean, _come on_, I didn't want to display my embarrassing boxers to the castle walls, which, if were alive, would mock me. Rifling through the drawer, I discovered something purely terrible.

The Quidditch boxers were gone.

My eyes widened and I could distinctly feel any blood circulation stop.

"Hold it together, Potter," I told myself, "It's only underwear. You can live without underwear and--_oh Merlin, I cannot live without those Quidditch boxers_!"

I felt as though I'd _lost a limb_; _that _is how much those boxers meant to me.

I shall tell you a few random, nonsensical events that have happened as evidence to the boxers being lucky. And no: it has nothing to do with erections! Good grief...

In Summer of Fifth year, Severus Snape was apparently going through puberty (which surprised me greatly as I didn't think it was possible for The Devil to suffer through young adolescence) and sprouted a giant zit on his nose. In the Great Hall, I flung a pee at his conker, the zit burst, and his nose got all infected and mouldy looking.

I was wearing my Quidditch boxers at the time. If that isn't a sign of them being lucky, I don't know what is!

Another timely event involved a rather annoyed Kingsley Shacklebolt last year. One day, my hair was extremely ruffled to the point of it being tangled, and for once in my seven years of Hogwarts, I tried something many people had recommend, but advice that more than always I had ignored:

I was going to brush my hair.

Of course, I'd asked the wrong person, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who thought I was making a crack about his reflective head. He shaves his head, of course, but Sirius and I like to tease him (in jest, no doubt) that he is naturally bald and ate one too many bread crusts, resulting in the hair loss.

Asking Kingsley for a comb had obviously pushed him too far, and he'd pursued me on a chase around the castle. When I was finally too fed up with running, Sirius had unexpectedly bombarded me in the corridor and pulled down my trousers to reveal my Quidditch boxers to the incoming tall Kingsley.

Suffice to say, Kingsley was very much horrified and left me alone from then on.

Aren't those boxers just jammy? Not speaking as if they are covered in strawberry jam, because that wouldn't make much sense -unless I had a fetish for jam, which I don't- but in the sense of the underwear being lucky.

And finally, I will tell you to a third happening that will prove just how lucky- in fact, super human, the underwear is. Not to mention it will make you drawl a nauseating "aaaaaw" that's accompanied with such a cheesy revelation.

The first time I met Lily Evans on the train…

Yep, you guessed it: I was wearing the Quidditch boxers.

Now, you can say it was a coincidence, a quirk of fate - a happenstance, even! And it probably was. But saying that it was just a fluke proves that you're not really a true romantic.

...Or that you're sane. Either one, really.

Unfortunately, the Quidditch boxers weren't working tremendously (they needed a few months to generate luck first) when I had just met Lily Evans, as a first year, evidence shown in the awkward conversation we had.

"You have many spots," I had told her.

"They're freckles," she had gritted through her teeth.

"What's that? A disease?"

It turned out she had quite low self esteem and I had said the wrong thing.

"You're eyes are green like jellybeans," I told her. "May I eat them?"

That was the moment she had hit me with her trunk. I didn't want to literally eat her eyes; it was just the power of food and my grumbling stomach that had corrupted my mind. But anyway, back to the missing underwear!

It was the mere fact that the boxers illustrated Quidditch which was more important to me. If I was ever going through pessimistic thoughts of the No-Quidditch bet, I would take one look at my underwear and be reminded that I would be reunited with my broom soon.

I'd look at my underwear in private, of course. Nobody likes someone to just drop their trousers in the middle of the corridors.

...wait; I did that with Kingsley, didn't I? But that was only a disturbance to freak him out and not step on me.

Loosing my lucky boxers made me like I had just lost a child. And like a lost child, I needed to find it before it spilled all my undying secrets! In terror, I ran out of my room, spotted Lily's door to her dormitory, and figured she might've seen the underwear thief! Without thinking, I grabbed the door handle and burst into her room.

"Lily, have you seen my-"

And here we are. Me, the fetching and suave Marauder, her, green jellybean eyes, freckles disease, and current sniffer of my underwear.

**Lily**

Well...this may be the most uncomfortable situation I have ever gotten into. And others moments include me accidentally bringing a tampon out of my bag instead of a quill, and snorting pumpkin juice out of my nose.

"Li-..._Lily, what are you doing_?"

He's staring at me. He's staring at me he's staring at me he's staring at me. The smartest move to carry out now would be to remove the boxers that are currently pressed up against my nose.

Unfortunately, the sneeze was rather...shall I say, _wet_.

Yes, my nose dribbled, and yes, there is -ugh, I hate to say such an uncouth word- _snot_...on his boxers.

Come on, Evans! Say something smart! Answer the boy!

I snap, "What does it look like, James?"

Not one of your wittiest comebacks, Lily...and the snap kind of loses its effect when your mouth and nose are covered by underwear, making your voice sound like a pathetic muffle. But what else can I do? I'm not going to remove the boxers and show James Potter my snot trails!

"It looks like you're sniffing my underwear, Lily."

Wha-...WHAT? That little toe rag! He thinks I'm sniffing his underwear! AARGH, NO!

...wait a second, while sniffing his underwear now, it does smell kind of peachy and--

AARGH, NO! He heard me just sniff his underwear! And he's smirking! I wondered just how long he could keep that confused expression yet at the same time bloody grin like a Cheshire cat! AARGH, NO!

...just one more for good measure: AARGH, NO!

"You stole my underwear, like some kind of stalker, and now you're sniffing them?" James says haughtily, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" My furious shout doesn't sound so furious behind the underwear material and I hope my glaring is making my anger comes across more clearly. "I'm not sniffing them!"

"Then why are you still holding them to your nose?" James points. "Merlin, you're sniffing them right in front of me!"

"No, I'm not! I sneezed and this was the nearest thing to hand!"

"My _boxers _were the nearest thing to hand?"

"There are no muggle tissues boxes in this castle!"

James looks as though he's about to agree with me, but shakes his head out of his reverie. "If this image of you sniffing my boxers isn't a clear sign you fancy the frilly knickers off me, I don't know what is, Lily."

"For the last time: I'm not sniffing them!"

"Then hand them over, then," James grins, holding out his hand.

Oh bugger.

"I can't," I mumble, reddening by the passing seconds.

James looks quite annoyed now, as though the underwear means something dearly to him. "And why not?"

"Because I sneezed into your boxers and there's nasal mucus all over it."

"What?"

Apparently I talked too quietly. It's hard to speak with this underwear mask.

"There's nasal mucus on your boxers," I say, slow and loud.

"I can't hear you."

"I GOT _SNOT _ON YOUR _MAN KNICKERS_."

There, that should be clear enough.

James blinks, and then suddenly doubles over in laughter. I don't see what's so humorous, until I realise he is laughing in disbelief. "Bollocks!" he says, unconvinced.

"No, not 'bollocks'," I roll my eyes at his vulgarity, "I sneezed snot all over you boxers, and I'm quite damn proud of myself."

The latter of what I said is a lie, of course, as I'm currently as red as a tomato, and, oh yeah: I want to die.

"Lily," James runs a hand through his hair, his eyes twinkling with glee, "just face up to the fact that you fancy me and enjoy sniffing my boxers."

I have to admit, that one -and I mean, only _one_- sniff of his Quidditch boxers after he'd mentioned I was inhaling them, was quite...refreshing, to say the least. But sniffing boxers regularly for enjoyment? No sodding way.

"James, if you want to live: find me a tissue," I order.

"Oh, this is getting old," he complains. "There's no need to be embarrassed, Lily. Just admit that you can't stop sniffing them, even now, and--" I release his Quidditch boxers slightly from my nose to reveal the mass explosion of nasal mucus on my upper lip that's dribbling everywhere. "OH GOOD MERLIN, STAY BACK!" He recoils and bangs into the doorframe, covering his mouth in horror of the mere appearance of my snotty nose. "STAY BACK, I SAY!"

The horrified shouting is enough to convince me to cover my nose again, heating in the face even more. "Do you believe me now?" I ask dryly, glaring daggers.

James is too busy shuddering to respond. "Uurgh," I hear him mutter. "_Uuuuurgh_."

"It's not that bad!"

James shakes his head with widened eyes. "Trust me, Lily, it's like your nostrils are creating Snivellus grease."

"Don't say that!" I shriek in terror.

James puts his hands up in defence. "I'm just telling the truth!"

"Just find me a bloody tissue, James!" I scream.

"Where?" he questions confusedly.

I throw up one of my hands that aren't occupied clogging up my nostrils with undergarments. "Anywhere! Go look in the bathroom for some loo roll!"

"Right." James looks quite confused, but nonetheless rushes off into the Head Tower toilets, while I grab my hand mirror and find that I look like some sort of slime creature from the chin up.

**James**

Right, so I'm looking for loo roll. Loo roll, loo roll, loo roll...

Ugh, I'm going to have to enter Lily's bathroom of the Head Tower, considering my own bathroom consists of no toilet roll, because I used too much of it to mop up the blood leaking from my chin whilst shaving this morning. My Marauders laughed at me because apparently I had no stubble to shave off in the first place.

My chin felt spiky; that's enough evidence that some kind of hair was there. It felt like a pineapple, for Merlin's sake.

"JAMES, HURRY UP!"

Oh, she's so bossy...it's super attractive.

I step into her bathroom and I'm immediately met with pink walls. Baby pink walls. A bright pink poodle was clearly murdered in the making of the paint of these walls.

Right, James. Focus on the object: saving your Quidditch boxers. Though Lily is sexy, her snot is not so good-looking, and you need her nose kept as far away from those lucky boxers as possible before the snot burns a hole through them.

Okay, there's a sink. Bloody hell, so many hair products and skin moisturisers...make up...shower...aha, toilet! Toilet leads to toilet roll and--BUGGER. The toilet roll holder is empty. EMPTY, DAMN YOU!

"James, hurry up! I can feel another sneeze coming!"

Oh God, not another nasal mucus discharge!

I rush back to Lily's dorm, wincing. "There's no toilet roll, Lily."

She cries out in frustration. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Trust me, I want nothing more than to cling to my underwear and cry right now."

Damn it; I should not have said that out loud.

"For goodness sake, James," her muffled voice curses behind my boxers, "Find someone who has tissue! Quickly!" She glares infuriatingly at me as it appears I have not moved yet. "Now!"

She's so commanding...it's super attractive.

Right, so I'm still looking for loo roll. Loo roll, loo roll, loo roll...

The cleverest idea would be to go the Prefects Bathroom; the obvious place for toilet roll of all kinds.

But I'm, well...lazy. And the Prefects bathroom is all the way on the other side of the castle. So, screw it. I decide to go back to the Gryffindor common room and find my Marauders in the same spots I left them in front of the fire.

"Back so soon?" Remus says, looking up from his reading material: an encyclopedia.

"Um, yeah," I answer distractedly. "Have any of you lot got a tissue on you?"

They stare at me blankly. Surely asking for a tissue isn't that uncommon?

"You're not going to have a wank, are you?" Sirius eyes me up and down, squirming.

"No!" I scowl. Honestly, the boys always think the most perverted thoughts of me. "Don't look so surprised, Wormtail."

"Sorry," Peter cringes. "Why do you need a tissue though?"

"While Evans was sniffing my underwear, she sneezed and got them all snotty."

...that was the whole story, right? I'm still quite sure she was sniffing the boxers. There's just no other logical explanation.

"Whatever, buccaneer," Sirius laughs, looking dubious, "And I'm giving birth to a Hippogriff."

"Well, you do look six months over due."

...oh, come on, Sirius was walking right into that one.

"You did not just call me fat!" he yells in outrage.

"I'm not in the mood for a verbal abuse match right now, Padfoot," I say impatiently, feeling my absence from Lily quickly ticking by, "I'm on a mission to find tissue."

"Wait, so you're serious about Lily sneezing into your undergarments?" Remus questions, looking wide-eyed.

"Yes!" I insist. "Now do the three of you have tissue, or what?"

Sirius raises his hand, and I groan inwardly. It just has to be him. "I do," he grins.

"Right. Hand it over, then."

Sirius scoffs, "_As if._ I'm not handing it over until I see some evidence," he prods me in the chest.

"Evidence?" I repeat worriedly.

"I'll give you the tissue until we," he gestures to his self, Moony and Wormtail, "see Miss Evans sniffing your man knickers."

Oh dear. I don't like where this is going.

I look at Peter and he's nodding eagerly, putting his thumbs up. I turn to Remus and say, "Surely you don't want to see too, Moony?"

Remus shrugs, putting down his book and joining me in standing. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose," he says. I'm quite shocked at the studious werewolf.

"What about your encyclopaedia reading?" I question.

"Oh," Remus bats a hand, "I'm on the letter 'Z' anyway."

Well, it looks like everyone can come along, then... Unenthusiastic 'yay'...

"Follow me," I heave a sigh.

Lily is so not going to like me after this.

**Lily**

I've been waiting a full half an hour, sitting on my bed, feeling the horrible wetness of my snot underneath James' boxers. It doesn't seem to be drying, which is bad because I would've preferred crustiness to wetness.

I brighten at the sound of footsteps, looking up from counting crumbs from the floor.

AAARGH, NO!

Instead of bringing me back tissue, as I specifically asked, James brought his three moron friends! Except for Remus, but he is an intelligent -but smart idiot- for hanging around with such baboons!

"_What the hell, James_?" I screech. "Why did you bring me an audience?"

The four boys linger at the door frame, staring at me like a horny animal at the zoo about to hump a rock, which I mistook for a mate.

"Wow, she really is sniffing your underwear, Prongs," I hear Sirius whisper, peeking behind James' shoulder.

"Oh my God, how many times must I defend myself? I am not sniffing his underwear!"

"But it seems quite apparent that you are, um," a smile is tugging at Remus' lips as he points to the boxers pressed against my face, "holding them to your nose."

"Only so I will not reveal the horrifying snot trails!" I protest.

The boys still remain at the doorway, staring at me in silence, and I grab a piece of clothing from the floor and hurl it at them.

"Score!"

...it just had to be my bra, didn't it? I just had to throw my embarrassingly lacy black bra...

"This is rather saucy for you, isn't it, Evans?" Sirius says, pressing the lingerie to his chest.

"Give me that!" James tries to snatch my bra off Sirius, but Sirius holds it high out of reach. I glare at James. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? I was just trying to get them off him for you!"

By now, I'm clearly in a rage. "Sirius, give me them!" I scream. In such an uncontrollable temper, I fling from my bed and advance towards Sirius, unfortunately releasing the Quidditch boxers from my nose.

"AAAARGH!" the boys howl in unison. This does nothing for my low self esteem.

Regaining my composure, I quickly cover my nose again, while the boys cower at the doorway.

"What the hell was that?" Sirius asks shakily, clutching my bra at his chest as a source of comfort. I glower at him, and he throws the bra back to me, though keeps a safe distance.

"Doesn't it look like-" James starts.

"Her nostrils are sprouting Snivellus grease?" Sirius finishes. I swear him and James are brothers. "Hell yeah."

Honestly, they're acting like such babies.

"Stop exaggerating! It's not abnormal, for Merlin's sake!"

"Yes," Remus agrees, though I can see him squirming, "Nasal mucus is quite common-"

"But hers _glows_," Peter cuts in, gripping his hands to wall, "and it _moves_."

"Oh shut up," I snap.

"But really, don't James' boxers smell peachy?"

James eyes Peter peculiarly.

"James, where are my God damn tissues?" I can't help but howl.

"Don't worry, Lily. The reason why I brought the guys was because Sirius has a tissue, but only agreed to give me them if they saw you sniffing my boxers-"

"I was not sniffing your boxers!-"

"-first," James goes on. "Padfoot, tissues, if you will, please?"

As Sirius rummages through the left pocket of his trousers, the right pocket of his trousers, the pocket of his shirt, under his sleeve, behind his ear, down his collar, in his pants, in his socks, and finally inside his bellybutton hole (luckily, an out-ey); I guess from the befuddled expression on his face that he has _no sodding tissue_.

"I just remembered," Sirius clicks his fingers in recall, "Moony used my last tissue mopping up my chin after I dribbled this morning."

"Dribbled _what _exactly?"

Sirius narrows his eyes at James. "Milk from my cereal, you pervert."

"Look, do any of you ignoramuses have some sort of tissue-like object on you?" I question hysterically. "Anything?"

"Well," James shuffles in his pocket and produces a small cloth of some sort, "I have this, I use for cleaning my glasses and--hey!" I snatch the cloth of him, drop James' Quidditch boxers to the floor, and flee from the room.

Slowly, I retrace my steps back into the room, remembering it is _my _dorm, and shoot the Marauders annoyed looks. "Get away!" I command.

James is eyeing the glasses duster I'm wiping my nose with a pained expression. "Aw...I can never clean my glasses again..."

"_Get away_!" I repeat.

"Can I least get my boxers first?" James asks.

I try to remain in a fury, but I can feel myself crumbling. "Whatever," I say immaturely.

James steps into the room, brings out his wand, and picks up his Quidditch boxers with the tip. "I'm so sorry, lucky man knickers," he mumbles sadly, exiting the room.

Once the boys are out of sight, I slam the door of my dormitory shut and collapse on my bed with an anguished outcry, very similar to the noise of: AARGH, NO! With my nose now fully clear, I breathe, as calmly as I can, in and out again.

I think I handled that rather awkward situation rather well, don't you?

Hahahahaha...ha...who am I kidding? I want to die. Tomorrow I may need to go see Madam Pomfrey about those informative 'HOW NOT TO FEEL LIKE YOU WANT TO KILL YOURSELF' pamphlets.

Exhaling noisily, I look down and realise I'm self-consciously fiddling with James' glasses cloth.

Hey...it smells like peaches too!

...Oh dear Merlin.


	7. Knitting is the new quidditch

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Boo hoo.

**Chapter 7**

**Lily**

Yes, I'm still alive…_mildly_. You'd think after the whole incident with James, his endearing boxers, and so much nasal mucus that it could fill up an entire broom closet with jars and be passed off as honey spread for toast, I'd have snuffed it by now.

Ugh.

Squirming, I drop my toast spread with honey on to the golden plate after thoroughly putting myself off food consumption.

For some odd reason, my friends Carly and Lauren are not in the Great Hall for breakfast yet, today (Wednesday: Day Three of the tedious bet) and I seem to be sitting at the table with a lot of empty space around me. It's as though the entire school is avoiding me, which is peculiar, because _they_ can't have known about the embarrassing experience where it _looked_ like I was sniffing James' underwear.

Bored by the lack of gossiping I normally have to endure by my hyena giggling companions, I take out my leaflet from my pocket that I got from Madam Pomfrey earlier.

Oh _yes_, I was completely serious about reading that death prevention leaflet. Trust me; I'm such a melodramatic I'll make breaking a nail look like losing an organ. My eyes study the title: 'TIPS ON HOW TO _NOT_ FEEL LIKE YOU WANT TO ATTEMPT SUICIDE.' Hmm, it's a rather gripping heading, no? Should be an interesting read, at least, it better be, or I'd have wasted two minutes of my valuable time.

'_1-_ _Try to remain calm_,' I read, and a groan escapes my mouth quickly after. A sense of serenity seems to be the answer to everything these days. Too bad I don't have much of it in my blood. It comes with the red hair, I'm afraid.

'_2-_ _Do not be afraid to talk to your friends,_' I read on. Well, considering my bloody friends are not even _present_, I'll have to rule that one out, won't I.

'_3- If you're ever feeling unhappy, remember a happy song and sing it to put yourself in a better mood_.'

Clearly someone put that last one for giggles. I mean, singing a happy song? How on earth will singing, and accordingly bursting everyone's ear drums with my 'angelic' voice, to the point of blood pouring out of their ears, put me in a better mood?

….hey, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea! Hopefully James Potter is present nearby! I pick the back of my brain and a sappy, cheery love song comes to my mind. Clasping my hands together, I suck in a deep breath and begin to sing quietly to myself.

"_With sweet love and dev-oooo-tion_," I'm vaguely aware of a few heads turning, as my voice is projecting rather louder than I thought, but I must muster on! "_Deeply touching my em-oooo-tion, I want to stop and thank you,_ _baby_!" Hey, it's kind of working! My spirits are being lifted, and my hands are actually thumping the table in beat. "_How sweet it is to be loved by_-"

"_You_," James Potter finishes the line, taking the opposite seat across me, wearing a handsome grin. I spurt the noticeable sound "WAH!" in surprise at his appearance, and also redden at the somewhat _fitting_ lyrics of the song. "Morning," he greets me with pleasure, helping himself to pancakes.

"Morn—" I'm about to cheerfully respond, when I realize exactly who he is. "I don't believe I granted you access to that seat," I snap coldly.

"Grant access?" he snorts in amusement. "It's not a child in the mess of divorce, Lily. Besides, you looked kind of…lonely."

I fold my arms and look away, though there is some truth behind what he said. I will kill Carly and Lauren later with pointy utensils.

I have to admit, I'm sort of glad James has joined me…solely for means of company, that's all!

"Where are your friends?" I question him.

He points further down the breakfast table, and they wave back merrily, with bits of toast in their hands and food swirling in their mouths. I frown in confusion. "Then why are you sitting by me?"

He shrugs, "Because I want to sit by you."

I really hate him sometimes, purely because of the fact that he surprises me by coming out with things like that. 'How sweet is to be loved by you', indeed.

"Where are _your_ friends?" he asks me.

"Hopefully six feet under…"

As James lets off a few soothing chuckles, I unexpectedly sneeze and clutch my nose, while my hair bounces at the sudden jerk of my head.

"Plagued by the dreaded cold?" he queries, still smiling.

Unfortunately the incident with James' boxers and that very first sneeze had been the first of many, many more sneezes to come. Luckily, I have James' glasses cloth to hand and wipe my nostrils before a repeat episode of yesterday happens. Strangely, everyone in the Great Hall turns to stare at me directly after the sneeze, as if they know something.

"You've decided to use my glasses cloth regularly, then?" he guesses.

"It's rather soft on my nostrils and easy to clean," I state, noticeably heating in the face.

"That's lovely. You can keep it, by the way," he mentions, as though I should feel privileged. "As much as I sat here to keep you company and grace you with my godliness-"

"James," I put a hand up, "You're bordering on arrogance again. What have I told you about this annoying trait?"

"Er, yeah, sorry," he cringes. Stupid boy. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for yesterday."

I stare blankly at him. I'm unaware what I've done anything kind for him lately. "If you're going to thank me for sniffing your boxers –which I did not do, by the way—I will hit you. With this knife covered in nasal-mucus-looking-honey spread."

"I wasn't going to," he defends himself, "though, I am rather thankful for that-"

Nasal-mucus-looking-honey looks funny spread across his cheek.

"Thank you for mistaking me as toast," he says, wiping his face. Ha, the spread is sticky and is now glued to his cheek and fingers! "But, back to what I say saying; I want to thank you for yesterday, you did me a favour."

"I did?" I gulp, a little worried about what I've recently done to support him.

"You confiscated my Quidditch related objects from my room! I mean, that was clever. Now you're in possession of the Quidditch things, there's no way I'll be able to get to them." He smirks, and with every word he says, I pale even more. "Now you've helped me, it looks like I might have a chance of winning this bet. So," he touches a finger to his honey covered cheek and licks it with his fairly long tongue…which I only noticed until now that he owns, "thank you, Lily."

"Don't mention it, James," I grit through my teeth. Mental note to self: kill Lauren for coming up with that utterly stupid idea of the Quidditch scavenger hunt of James' room. In fact, I bet she planned it all along! She knew it was helping James! Carly has corrupted her mind and she is now trying to make me lose the bet so they can go along with the Wedding plans and we can drive off in a Ford Anglia into the bloody sunset!

"Excuse me Lily; I think I hear my Marauders calling me." I don't know what James is on about as I can't hear his lapdogs whatsoever, and I'm a little annoyed that he's leaving me all of a sudden. "It's been a pleasure doing you—I mean…doing _breakfast_ with you. Harhar…bye." He makes a small wave before striding over to his friends, looking cocky and conceited in his usual strut.

Not that I was studying his walk or anything. Or focusing on particular parts, like, say, his botto—

I think we'll stop right there Lily, shall we?

I physically shake my head out of my thoughts, and make another unexpected sneeze.

Again, everyone stares at me.

_They know something._

**James**

"Wow James—"

I can't help but smirk conceitedly at such a response of one of my Marauders, taking a seat next to them in the Great Hall. I imagine a face as handsome as mine would make any wizard strike up such an amazed reaction.

"—that was a pretty amazing performance."

Oh, Remus wasn't talking about my face….never mind, then.

"We were snooping from afar, and we have to admit, you looked pretty unruffled in your exchange with Evans," Sirius tells me, chewing openly on his toast. Oh yes, my middle name is 'Unruffled'! James-Unruffled-Potter!

"So do we take it you're calm and handling the bet rather well now?" Peter asks.

Erm…

"All that with Lily was an act, wasn't it?" Remus guesses.

"I nearly drowned myself in the bath this morning, but besides that, I'm well." I struggle a smile and gesture the thumbs up. And when I mean 'thumbs up', I mean they're wavering. And when I mean wavering, I mean they're extremely struggling to be held in upwards direction… Overall, my thumbs up gesture are two closed fists.

"What you need is distractions," Remus suggests logically. "Your mind is constantly on Quidditch, right? So all you need is to do something that'll keep your mind off it."

"Hmm," I say, as a means of understanding, when really I haven't got a sodding clue what my werewolf friend is on about. "All that's coming to mind is wanking, and I don't particularly want to discuss that over breakfast."

"_When_ is there a time to discuss wanking?" Sirius says, half-laughing.

"Can you give me some suggestions please?" I ask, not answering Sirius' question. "Come on, there must be some sort of substitute for Quidditch that doesn't involve…playing with the funnel," I end awkwardly.

As the boys and I sit in silence, pondering for ideas, Peter suddenly taps me with a triumphant expression.

"Meet me in the common room after dinner," he grins. "I've got a great hobby."

Unenthusiastic 'yay'.

Wait, that's unfair now James. Peter might have a great hobby!

….Why am I worried that this hobby might involve 'coming out of a closet' of some kind?

**Lily**

"Where were you two at breakfast?" I interrogate Carly and Lauren, finding them sitting in McGonagall's classroom of first lesson: Transfiguration. They look wide-eyed as I appeared to have interrupted them in the middle of gossiping. They shoot me nervous smiles as I sit next to them, and I glower, "Where were you? I was so desperate for company I had to eat breakfast with the Head Boy!"

"Ooo, did you feed each other?"

Once McGonagall turns her back, I slap Carly on the back of the head.

"Ow," she pouts.

"Well that's what you get for voicing your opinion," I retort in a whisper.

"Look, Lily," Lauren starts steadily, low and quiet in the hush of the classroom as everyone's writing with their quills, "Try not be offended by what I say next; it's just, we didn't want to be seen eating with you."

"_How can I not be offended that_?" I can't help but shriek. McGonagall shoots me a strange look and I mumble an apology, crouching lower in my seat. Once her back is turned again, I look at Lauren for an explanation.

"We know about the whole 'boxers-sniffing' obsession," Lauren clarifies. "In fact, the whole school knows about it."

"I knew they knew something!" I hissed, remembering what happened in the Great Hall with my sneezing. At the thought of sneezing, my nose actually does the action and I squeak as it escapes me.

"Do you want a tissue or do you prefer boxers on your nostrils?"

Again, I smack Carly, this time on her forehead.

"Ow," she pouts again, rubbing the sore spot.

"You really shouldn't be making cracks when I have enough secrets about you to blackmail you for the rest of your life, Carly."

She turns quiet and I pull a glorious face. It's good to be me.

"You know I do _not_ sniff boxers, guys."

"Well, yes, technically," Lauren agrees with me weakly. "But the problem is the rest of the school won't believe you."

I groan in frustration. "Who the bloody hell told everyone anyway?" The second the words leak out of my mouth, I feel foolish for even asking.

I steal a glance at the back of the classroom and spot the culprit currently being slapped in the hand with high-fives.

James Potter, you will not live to see the next sunrise…

**James **

"You're taking bets on _The Bet_?" I sputter at Sirius, looking at him with an incomprehensible expression. He grins at me and slaps my back in return as we make our way to dinner.

"Yep," he rubs his hands together with scheming eyes, "I'm going to be raking in the galleons. I'll have enough money to buy that _stunning_ flying motorbike!"

"Sure you will, Padfoot," I roll my eyes. 'Flying motorbike', my arse. "So, out of curiosity, who's winning?"

"The ball definitely seems to be in your court," Remus enlightens me, taking out a notebook from his shirt pocket. I'm surprised at him.

"You're in on it too, Moony?"

"Sirius isn't that good with numbers."

I try to sneak a look at the notebook with the apparent betting numbers, but he pulls at closer to his chest. "It's private, James."

"We can tell you that people seem to think you'll win," Sirius says, "especially after what happened yesterday with your man knickers."

Wait…everyone knows about that?

"POTTER!"

Is my surname. That, it is.

Wait….that's Lily angry voice isn't it? Ah, poop.

"Oh wondrous red headed maiden—_Ngaaaaauh_," I cut off, as Lily Evans has currently pinned me to a wall with an extremely strong hand. She has sharp nails too, which are currently piercing my skin.

Though I can see my life flash before my eyes as my sight starts to get blurry and I can vaguely hear shouting from my Marauders as they struggle to pull Lily off me, I can't help but _like_ the position she is putting me in at the moment. Her body is currently pressed up against mine; she backs away from me in horror at the effect she is having on me. Her hand quickly drops from my neck and I drop to the floor, gasping for air.

"Not to sound rude or anything but, er, why did you just do that?" Remus asks outrageously. I can't help but agree with him.

"Everyone in the castle thinks I sniff man knickers!" she screams, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Oh._ That._

"I promise I didn't tell them, Lily," I rectify immediately. Suddenly suspicious, jointly, our gaze focuses on Sirius who seems to be shuffling from foot to foot.

"Er," he laughs nervously. "Gotta go!" he hurries off down the corridor before Lily can kill him, with Remus and Peter quickly following behind. Lily stares after them with a glower; once they're out of sight, she focuses on me with an even angrier one.

"This is your entire fault!" she accuses me. Just as she points the finger at me, she sneezes and makes an adorable squeak of a sound. Sniffing loudly, she presses my glasses cloth to her nose and repeats, "your entire fault," in a muffled voice.

"I think it's become quite apparent that it was Sirius'," I tell her. "Could you not tell by his timely escape?"

"He's not near enough to blame!"

Oh yes, my red haired maiden, that's a good excuse.

"Look, Lily, I'm _really_ sorry."

"Well that's all well and good, but while you're sorry, the whole castle thinks I like to smell men's underwear!" She makes another sneeze, followed by a loud sniff, and I can't help but worry if half the sniff is due to crying.

"Lily, I'll do anything to make it up to you, alright?"

…Woah, that rather evil smirk on her features came up rather quickly. I'm awfully worried.

"Well, since you're offering, James…"

I sincerely hope she'll ask me to kiss her better…

**Lily**

I drag James by the elbow towards the Portrait of the Fat Lady, and he determinedly keeps his heels glued to the ground so it's harder to move him. He's such a child.

"Pygmy Puff," I attempt to tell the Fat Lady, but James clamps a hand over my mouth and it comes across as 'Pfmmmhm.'

"Didn't quite catch that, dear," the portrait says.

I manage to elbow James in the stomach and he lets his hand go from my mouth. "What is your problem?"

"I don't want to do it. I change my mind." James looks nervous, and I can't help but be glad that he is. "I know I said I'd do you a favour, but I don't think I can do this."

"You're doing it," I say dangerously, "Or you won't have children."

"Because you won't have them with me?"

Oh Merlin, you have no idea how much restraint it is taking me to not hurt him right now.

"_No_, _because_ I will cut your _bits off_!"

"Oh." He looks disappointed.

"Pygmy Puff," I tell the Fat Lady again, this time forming the words properly. Once we step through the portrait, we find the common room full and busy with students, much to my delight.

"Go on," I tell James, prodding him in the back with my wand.

He looks reluctant, but eventually steps forwards. I watch him as he climbs on to the one of the common room tables while others stare at him in confusion. He points his wand at his neck, and with a spell, makes his voice louder and booming so everyone can hear him.

"Hello fellow Gryffindors. Can I have some hush, please?" he asks, forcing the room into silence. A few individuals in the room whisper to their neighbours while pointing at him.

He produces a piece of girly lingerie from his pocket and everyone gasps. "As you can see, this is women's knickers," he states. He looks directly at me, sighs, and then brings then lingerie to his nose, inhaling it with a gigantic whiff. Everyone in the common room gasps again, and I smirk triumphantly.

"As you can see, I just sniffed the women's knickers. Apparently I like to do this on a daily basis. Please feel free to make me a social outcast and tease me because of this perceptible secret." I nod to him, and he sighs, carrying on flatly. "I'd like to take this opportunity to state that Lily Evans doesn't like to sniff man knickers."

"The aforementioned is true," I confirm, as everyone looks at me.

"I'd also advise all of you to spread my love of inhaling women's knickers scent to everyone you know, so the secret is eventually not covert and my reputation as a smooth Marauder is flung out the window and run over by a passing lorry." Still sounding toneless, he adds, "I hope you have a good day, please continue with whatever you were doing."

As he leaps off the common room table, the room instantly erupts into chatter and bustling, and I note a few gossiping girls shoot out of the common room to tell other James' 'secret' to friends of the other houses, I presume.

"I hope you're bloody happy," James grunts, pulling an ugly face.

"Extremely," I tell him. "Now, my underwear back please, if you will."

James pouts. "It's only fair I get to keep it…"

And those were his last words before I castrated him.

….Not really, because I don't want to touch him –no matter what pleasurable feeling I may get out of it- so I instead shoot him a glower and step on his toe.

"Fine," he gives in, handing me back my knickers. "Lovely colour, by the way."

"Whatever," I redden, and _try not_ to make the mental note that James likes purple. I whip round and exit the Gryffindor Tower in a dignified manner.

**James **

Watching Lily's retreating back out of the common room, I silently smirk to myself.

As if I don't secretly own some of Lily's underwear already…

Heh heh…

"What the bloody hell was that all about?"

I try to quiet my giggles as Peter ogles at me. I have a feeling ogling will be aimed at me a lot after what just happened, mostly dirty looks from the female population of Hogwarts.

"Don't ask, Wormtail," I sigh, feeling suddenly dejected.

"Glad you could make it though, Prongs!"

I arch an eyebrow, confused. "Hmm?"

"I wanted to tell you about my hobby," Peter reminds me.

Oh, right. _That_. I'd kind of forgotten –and I use the word 'forgotten' loosely here- and was hoping to 'accidentally' miss out on discovering Peter's hobby. To be honest, I'm a little worried on what his leisure pursuit could be.

He sits me on the couch nearest to the common room fire, looking excited. I squirm in response. Grinning, he takes something out from behind his back and hands it to me.

I'm looking at…wool.

Hmm. Should I be scared yet?

Wait…and there are knitting needles too.

Now I'm scared.

"Don't get too excited at once now," Peter warns.

"Your hobby…" I can't grasp what's going on, and I blink at him, many times. "Your hobby…is knitting, Wormtail, how can I get too excited about something my grandmother does every bloody waking hour of the day?"

He wags a finger at me. "That's a very stereotypical view about knitting, don't you think?"

"No, my grandmother actually does it, and my mum too. I get double doses of knitted sweaters every holiday that I have to share out between you guys." I point at the jumper he's currently wearing. "That's one I gave you."

"And a lovely one too," he comments, and all I can do is blink.

"Peter, what the hell?" I say plainly.

"James, you wanted something to distract you, right?" I nod, weakly. "Knitting is the answer!" he says, in a tone which says that I'm stupid for not thinking of it before.

"This is a joke, right?" I say uncertainly.

Peter stares hard at me with a serious face. "Do you see anyone laughing right now?"

"That guy over there, but I think he's laughing because of what I was shouting about while standing on the table earlier," I say, feeling gloomy again.

"James, trust me, knitting will take your mind completely off Quidditch."

"Really?"

"_Really_."

Well, I don't have any other options. I'm desperate. I suppose I might as well give it a go, eh?

"Alright, then," I give in, flexing my fingers. "This knitting thing better have some sort of enjoyment or I'll go back to playing with the funnel."

All of a sudden, Peter looks worried. "James, are you sure you can handle this? Knitting is quite a dangerous sport."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Some have lost _eyes_," he murmurs. He picks up the knitting needle and points it towards his eye, miming an anguished scream.

"Don't worry, I plan not to do that," I reassure him.

"That's what Steven said."

"Steven?"

Steven –who to my presumption is blind due to a knitting accident— is not given a chance for his story to be told by Peter, as Wormtail shows me his collection of knitted scarfs.

This is going to be a long night.

**Lily **

"My demise will be soon," I tell my friends, lying on the 'love seat' (as Lauren likes to call it) of the Head Tower. James' glasses cloth is currently pressed upon my nose. The peachy smell soothes me, but my friends don't know that.

"Then your case of a cold will be the first record of killing someone."

I glare at Lauren for such a retort. How dare she mock the ill!

…I mean, _dying_!

"Lily, I don't think I can stand you sniffing—"

I promptly sniff, just to annoy her.

"—any second longer," Carly finishes, rolling her eyes. "We're leaving," she motions to her and Lauren. "We'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"My friends are deserting me in my last hours of need!"

See how overdramatic I am? See?

"Get well soon, love," Lauren pats my shoulder, before exiting the portrait with Carly.

I sigh in the empty room.

It's not fun being ill when you're alone.

Suddenly, I hear the portrait swing open as someone steps inside, and I quickly shut my eyes, thinking its Lauren and Carly, feigning my death so they'll feel guilty about not being at my side in my last seconds before passing away.

**James**

I step through the portrait of the Head Tower, hours after my 'knitting fun' with Peter, with my hands full of wool and knitting needles (God help me, what the bloody hell have I gotten myself into…). My eyes immediately lock on to Lily lying on the couch.

She's either dead, or sleeping.

….she's too flushed in the cheeks to be dead. And she doesn't smell like Dead People. Or Ghost.

Making the least noise possible, I walk over to the couch and stare down below at her, watching her chest rise and fall. Her arms look all bumpy with small hairs standing on end. She must be cold.

I conjure a blanket with my wand and delicately cover her, making sure not wake her up. Her eyelashes flicker a little, but I assume she's still snoozing.

It's at times likes these I wish she were mine. Not mine, like a possession, but –at a risk of sounding cliché— my girl. I've been chasing her too long. I tell myself that one day I'll give up pursuing her, and when I do, she'll be beseeching for my love.

But there's a risk she won't care. There's a doubt locked up, deep down inside me, worrying that when I finally tell her 'I give up', she'll do _nothing_, and say something indifferent and sarcastic like 'It took you long enough', and I'll hate her, from the bottom of my stomach I'll hate her, and I never want to hate Lily Evans because she's everything that's right about this messed up wizarding world.

I stare at her sleeping figure for a little longer, before crouching down and sweeping her messy fringe back gently with my fingers. I softly kiss her forehead – with my eyes closed, because it's a true one.

Almost instantaneously, her eyes shoot open.

Looks like Lily wasn't sleeping after all.

I expect a slap, a kick maybe. Yet, she does _nothing_, just that unfathomable stare with those green eyes that always transfixes me. I'd say 'It's as though she's looking at me for the first time', but I don't want to get my hopes up.

Breaking the gaze, her eyes come across the wool and knitting needles in my hands, and she looks at me with enquiring expression. I shrug in response, making a weak smile.

Pulling the blanket tighter around herself, she whispers, "Thank you. For the blanket, I mean."

I make a lopsided smile that's rehearsed in mirrors and passing window reflections, and whisper back, "G'night."

Standing, I manage to jumble all my knitting products in my hands and make it to my dormitory.

The yearning inside of me has never been clearer than it has been now.

_I have to win. _


	8. Scarf lassoing

**A/N: **Chapter dedicated to _-ShIvErInG sMiLe- _because education is a pain in her arse at the moment and I hope she feels better soon.

**Chapter 8**

**James**

It's Thursday: Day Four of the bet. You know what I used to like about Thursdays?

Quidditch practice.

…Excuse me while I go maim myself now-

"James."

…well, after Remus finishes talking to me.

"It's the middle of class," he continues, in the middle of Charms, with that familiarly shrewd adult tone of his, "what on earth are you doing?"

I turn to him with a nonplussed expression. "What does it look like I'm doing, Remus?" I ask him, in a sardonic manner.

"It looks like you're knitting in the middle of class."

"That assumption is correct."

Remus looks at me blankly. "I'm sorry, have I stepped into a parallel universe here, where you've adopted the characteristics of a senile old woman?"

Multi-tasking, I continue to knit while I talk, looping and interlacing the wool. It's quite an art, I've discovered. "What colour scarf would you like, Moony? I knitted Sirius a blue one." My knitting makes a continuous clicking sound as the needles knock together. With a final loop, I finish Sirius' scarf, pull it off the needles and drape it around Sirius' neck. Though Sirius looks mildly frightened about my new hobby, he also looks a little pleased that he's been given a gift.

"It'll cover up the love bites," Sirius says boyishly, so it doesn't appear as though receiving presents from me is a touching occurrence (though it most obviously is. Padfoot loves me, and who can blame him?). "From the girls, I'd like to quickly rectify."

"James," Remus leans towards me with what looks like concern, while I search through coloured wool in my robes pocket. I have every colour of the rainbow. "Did you get any sleep last night? Your eyes are all puffy and red."

"No, I've been knitting for eight straight hours," I say offhandedly. It appears my lack of sleep isn't taken in an unruffled approach.

Remus chokes, "_What_? Are you completely insane?"

I stop knitting to give him a momentary, rather vacant stare. "Moony, I'm _knitting_, I haven't _stopped_ knitting since last night, and I'm pretty sure I'll _keep_ knitting until my hands bleed. Healers from St. Mungo's are planning to cart me off at some point of the near future." With a few more clicks of the needles, I finish Remus' emerald scarf and rope it round his neck while he sputters at me in confusion.

"H-how did you… You only just began knitting that scarf a minute ago! How did you manage to finish an entire scarf in such a short period of time?" Remus cries. I shrug lamely, and make a start on Peter's yellow neckwear.

"His knitting skills are exceptional," I hear Peter say in admiration, "He has the weaving hands of a _Knitting God_." A 'Knitting God', he says? That title quite appeals to me.

"Well, who wouldn't get bloody exceptional at knitting if they did it for eight straight hours," Sirius scoffs. I don't think he likes all this God-like attention on me. "I mean, _I_ could knit," he goes on, "but I don't want to…"

"Well, thank goodness people such as Healers don't share the similar 'I _could_ heal but I don't _want_ to heal' attitude," Remus tells Sirius, rolling his eyes.

"Mr. Potter?"

I hear a firm, booming voice, belonging to the Professor, I'm guessing, but if I can't _see_ them, I can't _hear_ them. Turning on my stool left so I'm no longer facing the front of the class, I stare out the window as I continue to subconsciously knit Peter's scarf.

"Potter?"

Just keep knitting, stag boy. If you stop knitting, you'll think about Quidditch, and if you think about Quidditch you'll probably end up playing Quidditch, and if you play Quidditch you'll lose the bet, and if you lose the bet you'll loose Lily, and if you loose Lily you'll probably die because she's like the ham in a ham sandwich, and you're the bread, and she's yummy ham and tasty and she's necessary to complete the ham sandwich, as she is the ham, and she fills you up, and on particular days her face resembles the colour of ham and—

"Potter!" I'm forced to face the Professor as Remus, with his rather bendy foot, turns my stool to the front of the classroom. "Would you please explain to me what it is you are doing?"

All of a sudden I'm rather embarrassed by newfound knitting obsession - and I'm embarrassed for being embarrassed because I shouldn't be embarrassed. I don't care about exposing it to my Marauders; Sirius snuggles soft, cuddly toys and Remus likes to look at nudey women in magazines (…okay, I made that last one up, but honestly, someone who reads that bloody much must experiment in graphic material of the pornographic kind!). Heating in the face, which doesn't look particularly attractive on me, my hands occupied by wool and knitting needles slowly creep under the desk to hide from the nosey eyes of my Charms class.

"_Noth-ing_," I respond lightly to the Professor, though it's obviously something when I broke the word "nothing" up into two syllables. Stupid stag boy!

"Whatever you're fiddling with, put it away," he commands.

I realize, to the rest of my class, my hands positioned under the desk like this, directly above my crotch, looks mighty dodgy. Lily is giving me a particularly strange look. Her opinion of me matters the most, to be honest.

"What exactly are you doing under there, boy?" the Professor asks, squirming. I wish he hadn't squirmed because the class squirms; automatically thinking whatever my hands are doing, under the table, is unsanitary.

"I assure you, Professor, it's productive," I strain a smile. I hear someone vomit in their mouth a little. It could possibly be me, or that blonde over there turning unnaturally green in the face.

"I'd prefer it if you did your, er, 'productive' activities outside of class, thank you." On that note, the Professor shares a nauseated look with the class, before continuing with the lesson.

A Head Boy cannot suffer this much humiliation in a week, for Merlin's sake. My fellow classmates have seen me stab myself in the eye, cry, and misunderstood my knitting activities under the desk as playing with my…funnel.

Sighing, I finish Peter's scarf off and tie it round his neck.

"Take those scarves off!" the Professor quickly barks.

Knitting is such an underappreciated talent these days.

**Lily**

"Cold's gone, then, Lily?" Carly says, except she's consuming an entire potato at dinner in her mouth at the same time, so her question really comes out as: "Cmffff gmmmfph—" followed by rather serious coughing.

"Nearly," I tell her, patting her back and therefore saving her life. I'm the bestest—wait, 'bestest' isn't a word… I'm the best friend a witch could ever have…? I think that's grammatically correct. I'll ask Remus later.

"Why are you carrying that manky fabric with you?" Lauren asks me suddenly. My gaze comes across James' glasses cloth that's scrunched up in my hand. Though my cold's disappearing, I can't help but like carrying it around – like a miniature security blanket.

"It smells like peaches," I tell her, hoping that's a good enough excuse.

"So does my Aunt Georgia, but you don't see me sniffing her every few minutes," Lauren responds dryly. I didn't realize I smelt it so much, and so publicly… This isn't good.

"So, James had substituted Quidditch with playing with his funnel, then?" Carly says, once the potato has unblocked her oesophagus. I remember back to the scene in Charms this morning and shake my head.

"He wasn't…'playing with his funnel'." I hate using such a peculiar phrase. "He was knitting," I explain, remembering back to last night in the Head Tower. Somehow James knitting makes less sense than him playing with his funnel…

"Why's he knitting?" Lauren asks, joining me in my perplexity.

"He's probably knitting something for Lily," Carly says, as though suggesting jumping off the Astronomy tower would be a pleasant experience. "It's probably a wedding gift—"

NO.

"—for James and Lily's—"

NO NO.

"—Wedding…" Carly notices my deathly glare and subsides a little. "Together?" she ends weakly. I grab the nearest thing to hand as means of a weapon. "Oh God, Lily, put the potato down!"

I never carry out my threats, unfortunately; I'm too much of a nice person; so I release the potato I was going to shove down Carly's throat onto my golden plate.

I try to continue eating, but my bloody nostrils seem to be magnetized by that _gorgeous_ smell of peaches from James' glasses cloth, and it's so, _so wrong. _I can't get through one meal or dessert without familiarizing myself with the peachy smell. At one point, I wonder if all James' clothes smell of peaches, and if I could get away with stealing one of James' garments, and by then I've obviously gone insane and I'm looking at the gravy on my golden plate and seeing _his_ eyes again.

There are too many brown things to eat in this Great Hall.

I get up from my seat at the Gryffindor table while Carly and Lauren literally choke on their meals; I'm normally the last one to get up from dinner as I'm such a slower eater _time stands still_ when I consume. "Excuse me while I go," I pause, fumbling for a believable justification, "…ponder the meaning of life?"

"Willies," Carly chimes immaturely.

"Oh dear Merlin, don't leave me with her, Lily," Lauren begs me, clinging on to my arm with desperate eyes.

"I deserved at least one laugh for that," Carly says, sulking about not receiving welcomed applause, "Even the potatoes laugh! See, look!" She gestures with her fork.

"The potatoes aren't laughing; you're just poking them with your fork to make them move, and then giggling afterwards," Lauren reprimands her.

"Oh Lauren, you're such a misery bum!"

Not being able to stand the amusing annoyance of my friends any longer (there's only so much I can handle of them at a time), I scurry off to the library in search of some advice from my shrewd male friend.

I make the familiar call of "Reeeeemus" as I peek through a hole of a bookcase. I see a flash of his hair disappear round a corner, and you'd think he was hiding from me or something! As though my company is tedious!

"Remus," I finally corner him in a secluded area of bookshelves, a little annoyed I had to chase him down. Unfortunately, Sirius is with him. "Go away," I tell the boy brusquely.

"Lily," Remus chides me with a disappointed look. I sigh and tell Sirius, more politely, "Bugger off."

"You're rather rude, you know that?" Sirius says, getting up from his seat, which I quickly steal.

"It comes with the red hair, I'm afraid. Now depart, ruffian," I try to shoo him away. "Vamoose."

"Alright, alright!" Sirius huffs, "I'll leave you and Remus to talk about James _again_." He leaves with a smirk and I immediately turn on Remus with a glare.

"You told him about our chats about James!" I explode, quietly, because it is a library, after all.

"I didn't tell him, he just guessed accurately and I didn't correct him."

Though I'm squarely in a mood, I don't want to tell off Remus because that would make him slightly wound up and then we couldn't talk about James, and he's the only one I can really talk about James to…

"Is 'bestest' a word?"

With the end of his chin resting on the palm of his hand, he shakes his head while chuckling in amusement.

"I thought so," I say quietly.

"Lily, I'm afraid I may have to start charging you for these therapist sessions." Naturally, I'm a little offended at this comment.

"Why charge a chat between friends, Remus?" I say innocently, avoiding his gaze.

"Because we don't chat in equal turns; you talk about James relentlessly while I make the occasional nod or input of a word."

"We do not!" I protest.

"Yes, we do, and I have to confess that these 'chats' are becoming rather pointless when you could just end this nonsense now and go out with him—"

"Oh, no, no, no, no." I refuse quickly, shaking my head.

"Oh, of course," Remus is using his sardonic voice, and I grumble, "Because you _obviously_ don't fancy him despite the fact you talk about him, to me, all the time – and what might I ask do you want advice on today in our little therapy session?"

Reddening to the full, I slam my head against a book. "Thinking about James too much," I answer him.

"I didn't see that coming at all," Remus grins. Ugh, a Sirius Black Grin too! I want to slice it off with a bread knife!

"I don't get it, Remus," I mumble, in between fanning myself with a book as an attempt to stomp myself blushing, "Ever since the bet started, he's been acting so…pleasant."

Remus laughs, "Pleasant? Are we talking about the same bloke here? The boy who once farted into a pillow and then pressed it into my face—"

"Really Remus, this is not one of those Recall-a-Marauder-Memory moments," I tell him flat out. There's been too many of those moments. I know too much about those boys.

Remus takes the book I've been waggling in my hands because he likes books and what I'm doing to it is morally wrong in his mind, plus I'm probably breaking one of the library rules.

"Lily, is possibly fancying James Potter really that bad?"

"YES," I say immediately.

"Wait," Remus scratches his chin, "Let me rephrase that: is possibly fancying James Potter life-threatening?"

"YES."

"…Let me try again: fancying James Potter isn't that bad," he rewords.

"YES. IT IS."

I stare at him as he shakes his head at me, in a way that reminds me of a father figure being disappointed somehow. "Listen to the Wise Philosopher here: call off the bet, put James out of his waiting misery and give him a chance."

I bite my lip when I whine, "But the bet's started now. There's no point breaking it off; there's no way to—"

"Of course there is, all you have to do is say the word, the bet is off, and you can snog each other's faces off while we disgorge our last meals!"

Har, the day I snog James Potter publicly is the day nifflers fly and start pooping on surfacing clouds.

"We just can't Remus," I tell him stubbornly, "this bet…this bet determines everything. Whatever the result is, it'll prove whether James and I are meant to be together. If he loses, we were obviously never meant to be." My tone turns sort of sad at the latter of my words, which I certainly do not like. "It's a bet of fate."

"A…a bet of_ fate_? Lily, it's a bet about a pretty mindless sport and making someone bald! It's ridiculous and just plain daft!"

"Hey!" I slam my fists against the desk in outburst. "Don't mock the bet; I created it!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, I give up," Remus says in what I recognize a tone of exhaustion. "You fancy James Potter, or you don't fancy him, or you can't stop thinking about him; it's not my problem, Lily. Deal with it yourself."

I gasp, "Remus!"

"'Remus' what?" He ogles at me, throwing up his hands, "I don't understand what I'm supposed to say—"

I tug on his robe sleeve and jiggle it. "Help meeeeee..." I plead, rather pathetically, but no-one is around to witness my pathetic nature except the books.

"But how am I supposed to help you?"

"Give meeee," I wiggle his sleeve a bit more, "A new braaaaain to stop me thinking about hiiiiim…"

I don't know why I keep prolonging words. I admit it's fun and adds to my pathetic nature.

"I'm not qualified to carry out brain transplants, I'm afraid," Remus retorts.

"Fine! Fine, don't help me!" I sulk. "This isn't about James anyway," I dismiss lamely.

Remus arches an eyebrow. "It's not?"

"Yes! I mean: _no_, _it's not_. I only came here to ask you whether 'bestest' is a word—"

"Which it isn't," Remus cuts in.

"Yes," I agree. "And…and—"

"And what?" Remus prompts.

"And...and to ask you….whether…you had any spare bookmarks." I look down at my feet.

"Here you go," Remus quickly hands me one; he must keep a stocked supply. "Look," he points to the bookmark, "It's got a cat on it. Can you see?"

"Yes."

"You see the cat?"

"Yes. Yes, I see the cat."

"It's a brown cat."

"Yes, it is brown."

"Does the colour remind you of James in any particular way?"

I glare at Remus. "_No, it doesn't_," I grit through my teeth, while he looks incredibly amused. "Good day, Remus."

"Why are you sniffing James' glasses cloth—?"

"I SAID: GOOD DAY!"

**James**

Oh dear God.

I've run out of wool.

There's none left; zilch, zero, nil, NOTH-ING!

My robe pockets are completely devoid of wool.

Excuse me while I go weep now-

"James."

…well, after Sirius finishes talking to me.

"Mate, I am _extremely_ worried about you," he says, leading me to a corner of a common room. I nod to signal that I'm listening to him, while slicing my knitting needles together. It makes a creepy scraping sound, we both notice, and I can see Sirius making a mental note to send me off to St. Mungo's after this conversation. Plus, he's written 'send James off to St. Mungo's after this conversation' on the back of his hand with blotchy ink.

"This knitting thing," Sirius continues, "I'm not saying it's bad, I mean, I like my new scarf," he tugs the end of his blue scarf and grins in child-like innocence, then quickly gets –harhar—_serious_ again, "Really though, it's destroying your whole image as a Marauder."

An image that said what? We're a silly gang; fear us!

For Sirius' sake, I'm going to keep normal so not to worry him.

"WOOL!"

…oh, for bugger's sake.

"You what?" Sirius says, eyeing me up and down at my outburst. It's too late now; I can't keep 'sane' any longer.

"I _need_ wool," I tell him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Dy'a have any? Do ya? Do ya do ya do ya—"

"Well, if you can give me time to answer, I could inform you with a no."

"You must have some!" I shake him by the shoulders again. "Why are you hiding it from me? Huh? HUH?" I spot a loose thread on the collar of his robes and my eyes spark up with glee. "Substitute wool!" I scream, pulling on the thread.

"Substitute what—? Oi! Oi, what the hell are you doing, bumface? Prongs, you nutcase—oi, these are new robes! Get off! Prongs, _get off_!"

I continue to pull on the thread and quickly have a bundle in my hand, while Sirius screams "MY NEW ROBES!" in an angry, high pitch. He'll forgive me later. I'll knit him a new sweater, or something.

"Wormtail!" I hear Sirius shout, as Peter tries to escape out of the portrait hole unseen. "Wormtail, look what you've done to Prongs with your stupid granny hobby!"

Peter stops at the portrait, looking mildly insulted. "It's not a granny hobby!" he huffs. "Do I look like a granny to you?"

"If you don't turn James back to normal, your face will resemble a wrinkly granny prune, because I will hit you," Sirius threatens. I continue to cackle rather manically as I pull more thread from Sirius' robes, until I topple over due to my presently unstable—both in state of mind and balance—zany self. Immediately, Sirius sits on my stomach, while Peter towers over me with a consultant-like expression.

"I saw this coming," Peter says. "I knew he wasn't ready for knitting."

"Well, that's wonderful, Pete, just brilliant. Your words are really helping this situation," Sirius drones.

Peter uses his wand to shine a bright light at my pupils, while pushing my eyelids upwards, as though we're going through a doctor examination.

"He's got the Knitting Disease," Peter concludes. "The exact same thing happened to Steven." Oh my God, he did not just bring up that stupid legendary knitting bloke Steven again! If he brings that guy up one more time I will Avada Kedavra myself…

"WOOL!" I scream incoherently, "WOOL!"

"Prongs, shut up," Sirius hisses at me, "You're making a scene!"

Frankly, I don't care. As Sirius uses his buttock muscles to puncture my ribs, I wave to the fellow Gryffindors in the common room and they wave back merrily. Of course, they're all wearing scarves or some sort of article of clothing knitted by me. I knitted something for everyone in my House. Aren't I a darling?

"WOOL!"

"You do realize that wool won't suddenly appear if you shout the word at the top of your lungs," Sirius points out. His words are true, until I realize I am a wizard and I can use magic! Hooray!

Grabbing my wand from my back pocket, I whip it out and point it in the air. "_Accio_ wool!" I yell delightedly.

At once, wool shoots from all directions – sadly, not the wool I wanted. I didn't want wool that was attached to necks or chests – like scarves or woolly jumpers. After some brief screaming by fellow Gryffindors, Sirius and I are bombarded in a mountain of woolly objects that suffocate us in a corner of the common room. Something that strikes me as odd and annoying is that no one jumps to our aid. Just because wool is soft and harmless doesn't mean we don't need help! Not to mention wool is sometimes rather scratchy on the skin, and my skin is rather sensitive and spongy.

"I've got an idea to get you out of your knitting frame of mind, Prongs," Sirius says, after popping his head through the wool mountain. As I also break for air, popping my head out of the wool mount, I'm too erratic to answer as I make an insane hiss similar to a cat, wailing my knitting needles in the air hazardously. "Hypnotism," he reveals.

I promptly sink back into the wool mount, hoping the scarves devour me.

**Ten minutes later in the Head Tower…**

"Repeat after me, Prongs," Sirius says, sitting across the floor of my dormitory.

I nod, "Righto," rather cheerfully despite my current situation.

"I do not like knitting," Sirius says, then looks at me enquiringly to replicate.

"I like knitting."

"No," Sirius looks rather annoyed, "I do _not_ like knitting."

"I like knitting."

"Prongs, you're not bloody listening to me!"

"I can't help it!" I protest. "Your voice is rather monotonous sometimes..."

"Try again: knitting is stupid."

"Knitting is fab—"

"_Prongs_!"

"Well, can you blame me? This isn't hypnotism at all!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No it isn't," I say clearly, "Hypnotism requires a hand-watch being swung back and forth; you are using an apple tied by a shoelace."

Mutually, we stare at the apple attached to the flimsy shoelace (_my_ shoelace, might I add!). It kind of swings, but a hand-watch would be better.

"I didn't have a hand-watch, alright? This was the next best thing."

"An _apple_?"

"I like fruit! Why is that so hard to understand?"

I hear a distant call behind my dormitory door. Instinctively, I know it as Lily's. "Hello?" She raps on the door. "James, are you in?"

"It's her!" I rejoice, my little Prongs heart fluttering. Sirius holds a worried look. To my delight, I remember, "I can give her the knitted present—"

"You're gonna give her _what_? Oh no, no, no, no, _no_, Prongs!" Determinedly Sirius shakes his head back and forth. "Girls do not like knitted presents, not to mention you are yet again harming the Marauder image!"

"The one which makes us look like silly sods with a gang name?"

"That it may be," Sirius agrees weakly, pointing a finger, "But it is an image nonetheless! But, please, Prongs, don't give her something knitted—"

"I don't give a toss what you say," I cut him off, dismissing him. I point to under my bed with a commanding gaze. "Hide under the bed and keep quiet. You know she hates it when one of you lot are in the Head tower."

I've never seen Sirius so moody. "Fine," he sulks, "I'll hide under the bed but I'll eavesdrop and you can't stop me!" With a flick of the ebony hair over one shoulder, he drops to floor and rolls under the bed in one swift motion. It's quite extraordinary. He must teach me that move sometime.

"I will not wait out here all day!" I hear Lily shriek behind the door. "I say, I WILL NOT WAIT OUT—"

"Hello," I finally greet her, opening the door, beaming just for her. She looks rather flushed in the cheeks from screaming and her face is frozen in the middle of a yell. Her mouth finally closes a little, though I liked it open because I was enjoying studying her tongue.

"A chat," she says incoherently, "Between us. You. Me. Preferably now."

I ask her on where the chat shall take place, inside the dormitory or out. "In? Out?"

"In, out, and shake it all about," Lily adds, stepping into my dorm. I look at her strangely.

"What?"

"It's a muggle song."

I stare at her, and mainly where she is seated in my dorm. "You're sitting on my bed," I state.

"Where else would I sit? You're lacking furniture in here." She suddenly looks appalled. "Oh Merlin, James, when I leave here please do not sniff the patch where I sat."

I stare at her even more. "….Why? Did you…fart?"

"No! It's just sniffing where people sat seems like something weird you'd do."

"I'm _not_ weird!" I strongly protest, and quickly say afterwards, "_I knitted you something_." Apparently saying you knitted something does nothing but make the person think you're less peculiar.

"You, er," she laughs a little - nervously, mind, "you what?"

I produce a bright red scarf behind my back and hand it to her with a generous grin. She examines it in between her fingers. I used the softest wool.

"It's red," she states, "It clashes terribly with my hair."

"I know," I agree, cringing, "I was going to use green because they match your eyes, but I used the last green wool on Remus."

"Well, it's nice to see who matters more in your life—"

"Oh, no, not the chocolate addict werewolf! Of course you matter more," I make a meek smile. She returns it, just as gentle, and I nearly go into cardiac arrest.

"I… James, I think I might fancy you."

_Make a slip knot on the shaft of one needle. Place this needle in left hand. Hold other needle in right hand to control the wool. Insert point of right needle, from front to back, into the slip knot and under the left needle—_

"James?" Lily waves her hands in front of my face. "Did you hear what I just said?"

I blink and shake my head out of my reverie. "Sorry, I was reciting knitting instructions. What did you say?"

"I might _possibly_ fancy you…"

_Hold left needle still in left hand, and move left fingers over to brace right needle—_

…wait a second.

'_I might possibly fancy you.'_

Oh my lord, Merlin answered my prayers.

_SHE_ FANCIES _ME_. We'll overlook 'possibly' because that will gradually grow into 'definitely' and HOORAY!

_With right index finger, pick up the wool—_

James, stop thinking about knitting! She fancies the sexy underwear off you! Well done, stag boy! Well done!

"Stop smirking conceitedly James, I said 'possibly'," Lily somewhat growls. I lessen my smirk into a smile, which really is a smirk in disguise because Lily Evans fancies the sexy underwear off me!

"How did you, er, come to this assumption, then?" I ask, wiggling my eyebrows, looking quite smug.

"Well…I was talking to Remus—"

"Oh God," I blurt out worriedly, "You aren't having his babies are you? I always thought you two made a studious couple—"

"No, I'm not having his offspring, James," Lily relieves me. "Well, I talk to Remus a lot about you actually…about us, and things, and, well, I'm going to have to face up to the fact that I might," she shrugs her shoulders with a defeated sigh, "…fancy the sexy underwear off you."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," I nod energetically, "Same wording and everything. Let's snog."

I craftily hook the red scarf around her neck and try to sort of lasso her forwards to kiss me, and it oddly works as I tug her further to press up against me. She's kissing me, and she's the ham and I'm the bread and we complete the ham sandwich but she's _pulling away_. I want her; I want her this near to me always; face, hair and lips and warmth and there are many synonyms of pure joy and lust and bliss that can describe this moment, but she's _pulling away_, and I don't understand why she's pulling away from something that feels just so _dead on_. As she steps back –God, I hate it when steps away from me—I let go of the red scarf and it drops to the floor; the colour red reminds me so disturbingly of blood dripping to the ground and it sends me shivers down my spine.

"James," her voice comes across as hoarse. I watch her lick her dry lips. "Just because I may possibly fancy you it…it doesn't mean the bet is off." She's talking as though the kissing that just occurred never happened. Go figure.

I want to curse her. I want to yell at her. I want to _scream_ at her for letting me kiss her because all I want to do is kiss her again, and I know she won't let me. I want to tell her how angry I am at her for pulling away, and how angry I am at her for not acknowledging what just happened between us, but instead I ask a simple, "Why?" My voice is kind of croaky. Lily's Evans' kisses have that much of an affect on me.

"Because it's a bet of fate, why can't Remus or you understand that?" she says tiredly. "If you win, you've shown you can give up something you truly love—" _for someone I truly love_—"up for me. If you lose, it proves that we were never meant to be together."

Out of all the bets, this is the first I've truly hated.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I tell her in a hollow tone. "It was fun at first, but now...there's too much at risk here."

Lily forces a bizarre laugh, "Your hair?"

"No," I shake my head, "You." The words somewhat echo in the stillness of the room and I wish I'd never said them, even though I mean them from the tips of my unruly hair to my little stag toes.

She gives me a last, soft kiss on the cheek – which I treasure, taking it in like oxygen. Pulling away yet again –God, I hate it when she pulls away—she picks the red scarf off the floor, drapes it round her neck, and leaves me to stand alone with my knitting needles as she exits the dorm. She looks back; thank God she looks back; she looks back with those glittering green eyes I wanted to match with a scarf, and that glance back shows there's hope.

I watch Sirius unroll from beneath my bed while eating an apple, the same apple attempted to hypnotise me.

"Better luck next time, eh stag boy?" Sirius says, patting me heartily on the back.

There's been too many "next times". Sunday, I wish you'd come sooner. I'm sick of the waiting.


	9. Everyone loves a capslock spazz

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing

**A/N:** Chapter dedicated to _the radical writer _because she was jealous of the last chapter dedication, which makes me laugh because you don't even get a sparkly free toy with a chapter dedication, so chapter dedications officially suck niffler balls.

**Chapter 9**

**Lily**

It's Friday morning, and I'm lying in my bed with a pounding headache that resembles a hangover, or as though someone smashed me on the head with an amusing inflatable hammer (the smacks do start to hurt after the fiftieth smack of one – Sirius Black, I hate you). If this is the kind of side effect caused by kissing James Potter, I will NEVER kiss him again.

Wait. Rewind. I… I KISSED _James Potter_?

No, no, no, no, no, no…

I jump out of bed and make for the door, swinging it open. Fatefully, James has done the exact same thing, stood in the doorway of his own dorm. I observe his face, trying to decipher whether kissing James Potter was some sort of gratifying dream–did I say gratifying? I meant _ghastly_.

He has dimples…. Since when did he have attractive dimples? He's got the usual I've-just-got-out-of-bed hair that's styled handsomely—did I just say _handsomely_? I meant _horrifically_.

Oh no…

He's got _that_ look. The Cheshire cat look, except it's more of a satisfied bambi look. It's the look which says…. _Oh no_. It says 'Lily Evans kissed me and I'm going to brag about it to everyone in the wizarding world because really under this manly exterior I'm a big gossiping pain in the rear'.

"Morning," he grins. Aw, I just want to pinch his little adorable cheeks—AAARGH, NO. I slam the door shut in his face. I rest my back against the surface of the door, just in case he tries to barge it open (you never know with him).

I jump out of my skin as he shouts through the gap of the door, "ARE YOU COMING FOR BREAKFAST? I'M GOING FOR BREAKFAST. ARE YOU GOING? BREAKFAST, I LOVE BREAKFAST."

"James, you're standing right outside the door! There is no need to shout!" I reprimand him, sticking a beady eye at the gap.

For a second I don't see him until he suddenly appears, putting his own eye to the gap.

"ARE YOU COMING FOR BREAKFAST?"

Oh Merlin, please, tell me I did not kiss that…

"I'll go later!" I hiss through the gap, hoping he'll get the hint. "Be gone, baboon!" I try to shoo him away. "Go!"

I watch his face droop a little before he disappears, listening to his footsteps and the swing of the portrait door as he exits the tower. Once he's gone, I sigh, resting my forehead on the surface of the door.

So last night really happened, then. I did the two things I stated long ago would never occur: admit I fancy James Potter and…. share… his…. saliva. Oh no, for all I know some of James Potter's saliva could be in my mouth this second.

Why does that idea not repulse me? AAARGH, NO.

Just as I'm trying to calm my laboured breathing (every time I think about kissing him my breath oddly quickens), there's a voice yet again from behind my door, "ARE YOU COMING TO BREAKFAST?"

For the love of Merlin… he's back.

Swinging the door open, I shout (with much uncontrollable spit flying), "For the last time, you stupid oaf and your bloody delectable mouth, if I hear you shout that question one more time I will BURN that little broom you probably like to call after a girly name like 'Susan' and use her as firewood, then urinate in it so the firewood wasn't even put to good use and—oh, it's you, Lauren."

I watch her wipe her, er, _damp_ cheeks with a grimace. "Did you just," she starts, confused. I shift from left foot to right, laughing nervously. "Did you just threaten to burn a broom and then urinate on it?"

She doesn't understand. When I get angry I get incoherent.

"You don't understand," I tell her, mimicking my thoughts, "When I kiss James Potter I get incoherent."

"When you what?"

I blink, "Hmm?"

"You… Lily, you just said you kissed James Potter."

I guffaw, "No I didn't!"

"Yes you did! You just said it now!"

Wait…. oh, bugger.

"SORRY," I apologize, "Totally mixed up my words then. I meant: when I kiss James Potter I get incoherent."

… Bugger, it happened again!

Reddening, I say, "Let me try again: when I kiss…when I k—" I growl and attempt once more to _not_ mention salvia exchange with James Potter. "I become incoherent when I k—" I clear my throat and stare at Lauren. "What was the question again?"

"_You kissed James Potter!_"

"That wasn't the question!"

"It's the new question." She folds her arms.

"Well, I want another one!" I say, panic-stricken.

"This isn't like refunding Christmas presents, Lily! You kissed James Potter why?"

I admit it. I'm not ready to confess to my friends that I fancy the sexy underwear off James Potter. Heck, even I can't admit it… though I did just admit it then and it sounded rather appealing and –oh, there we go, imagining James in his sexy underwear—

"Lily, sometimes I really do think you talk too much to yourself sometimes…"

—he has rather attractive knees. Knees aren't normally attractive on a bloke, but his are nicely shaped.

… Hmm, I'm not hearing any sounds from outside my head. Maybe it's one of those moments where I'm completely captivated in my thoughts while the person I was previously caught up a conversation with stares at me, waiting for me to snap out of my reverie and pay attention to them.

Lauren is currently staring at me.

Yeah, it's one of those moments.

"You were saying…?" I prompt her.

"Argh, how many times must I repeat questions to you? Why did you kiss James Potter?"

Oh dear… Diversion tactic, Head Girl!

"ARE YOU COMING FOR BREAKFAST?"

… If anyone asks, I did not just shout that.

"Lily, why are you using a thunderous tone James Potter uses to get his way—?"

"I'M GOING FOR BREAKFAST. ARE YOU GOING?"

"Erm… okay?"

"BREAKFAST, I LOVE BREAKFAST."

Wowza, James Potter uses an impressive technique. Somehow shouting at a deafening pitch enchants the person into a state of ultimate bewilderment, to the point where they agree with whatever you say in fear!

Maybe I should make Lauren craft me an entire castle out of chocolate.

"You're pushing your luck, kid," she says, after I voice my thoughts.

"Not even a chocolate moat?"

"I'll make _you_ a chocolate moat if you don't get a move on."

"… That makes no sense. Are you building me the chocolate castle or not?"

"No, I was implying that I'd make you a chocolate moat in a threatening manner, as though physically beating you, not actually construct you one—oh Merlin, I am not having this conversation with you. Let's go."

"Alright," I accept.

Just as I'm about to pass through the doorway, my eyes lock on to the red scarf on my bed. It's not even cold or scarf weather, but I have the strangest sensation to wear it.

And it has nothing to do with James Potter knitting it for me.

"Aright, we can go now," I tell her, after hooking the scarf around my neck. Immediately my neck feels warm and a sappy smile plasters my face.

"Lily," Lauren eyes me peculiarly out of the corner of her eye, "It's not even scarf weather."

"Well, it's not even trouser weather," I bite back - a lame bite back, no doubt. More like a mild nibble, to be accurate.

"You're not making any sense again," she points out to me.

She doesn't understand. When I get angry I get incoherent.

"You don't understand, Lauren," I tell her, mimicking my thoughts… hmm, mild sense of déjà vu, but I shall carry on, "When I kiss James Potter—oh, for goodness sake!"

I prepare myself for another kiss interrogation, yet bizarrely Lauren tells me, "You're only wearing your pyjamas."

"Yeah, you could have told me that before we stepped through the portrait hole."

"Sorry, it didn't seem irrelevant."

**James**

I'm currently walking with a spring in my step.

"Have you got leg cramp, Prongs?"

… I am currently walking with a spring in my step no longer.

"Lovely morning, isn't it chaps?" I say to my friends, catching up with them on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. I link arms with Peter and Remus, and for manly reasons they find this very uncomfortable.

"Someone spike your toothpaste this morning, Prongs?" Sirius snorts. "We all know how you secretly love to eat that stuff."

I eat toothpaste _one time_ and Padfoot never lets me live it down. I ask, "Can you notice anything different about me?" and we stop in the corridor as they examine me.

Remus strokes his chin. "Did you… comb your hair?"

That hadn't been the answer I was looking for.

"Yes," I say, "but I comb my hair everyday."

Sirius scoffs, "Now, now._ That_ is most definitely a lie."

I insist, "No, seriously, I do."

Remus looks flabbergasted. "Really? Who'd have thought…"

"I know, I know!" Peter announces smugly. I always knew Wormtail was the cleverest Marauder to figure out that Lily Evans, oh sweet cherry of my metaphorical dessert, kissed me last night. "James got his eyebrows shaped."

"Yes! Yes, that's it!" Sirius applauds him. Remus also looks convinced, nodding impressively. Though I didn't specifically tell Sirius last night Lily and I had kissed, I would have thought he guessed from the… erm… _noises_ he heard from under the bed.

"You guys really aren't on the ball this morning," I tell them.

"On whose balls?" Sirius asks confusedly.

"I don't really know," I admit. "I've never understood that phrase."

Peter comments, "Whoever did your eyebrows did a lousy job." Suddenly his face is all up in my face and overall he is stepping in my personal bubble. "They're still bushy and chaotic as ever."

I have chaotic eyebrows? I pull out my two-way mirror I use to communicate during detentions and focus on my brow. They're not _that_ bad. At least they don't join together like some sort of caterpillar that eats faces—

"My eyebrows do not resemble a face-eating caterpillar, Prongs," Sirius defends the caterpillar that has migrated onto his brow, promptly after I voice my thoughts. "I'll have you know that mine are of perfect alignment. They're symmetrical and everything."

"I blame this futile conversation on our empty stomachs," Remus mentions, hinting that we should get a move on to the Great hall. It's not as though they'll run out of food. Sheesh, hungry werewolves with no patience…

"Are we going to drop the whole subject of James' melodramatic happiness?" Peter asks.

"We most certainly are not," I inform them. "You still haven't guessed the root of my disposition."

"Wasn't it the shaped eyebrows?" Peter asks.

"I haven't got my eyebrows shaped!" I cry, though now I have the odd urge to go have them done. Maybe I can get them done in Hogsmeade…

Damn my friends for putting girly thought in my head.

"I'll give you a clue: one of us here has been kissed by Lily Evans," I announce, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

"Wowza! Moony, you old dog!" Sirius says, clapping a rather puzzled Remus on the back. He seems to be wondering at which point Lily kissed him without his awareness.

"She didn't kiss Moony!" I yell, extremely offended. "She kissed _me_! Sirius, you were there, for Christ's sake!"

"I know," Sirius says, "It was just more fun to make Moony panic at the thought of being kissed by someone and having no recollection of it."

Remus grins. "Now I know how you feel like after a night out in the Hog's head," sidestepping in order to avoid Sirius' hit at the remark.

"You can make jokes now Moony, but I'd like to inform you that you've lost all privileges in riding my flying motorbike in the future," Sirius tells him. Good grief, not that stupid motorbike aspiration again….

"You have no idea how gutted I am at your news," Remus replies, expressionless. His enthusiasm to ride Sirius' flying motorbike –something he is surely never going to get anyway—is shown in his stony face.

"Wait, wait, WAIT," Sirius holds up one hand in the air while wiggling a finger in his ear. He looks like a peculiar scarecrow. "Did thy ears deceive me? Lily Evans, oh cherry of your metaphorical dessert, kissed you? Voluntarily?"

What does he bloody mean 'voluntarily'? Is he saying the only reason for Lily kissing me was if I _forced_ her?

Because that's a pretty accurate assumption.

"Technically I lassoed her with a scarf—" I begin.

"Oh, that makes sense," Peter interrupts me, nodding.

"Prongs lassoed her with a scarf, thus entrapping her in woolly material. When she was at point of unconsciousness due to wool suffocation, he forced his lips upon hers," Sirius concludes eloquently. "That sounds mildly like attempted rape—"

"It wasn't like that, you pillock," I cut across him.

"Well, I'm going to need some sort of snogging evidence," Sirius says. "Show me your neck."

"I beg your bloody pardon," I start worriedly, stepping back.

"I want to check your neck for bite marks," Sirius says, simultaneously taking a step forward.

"I wouldn't trust him James, he probably wants to make bite marks of his own," Remus tells me out of the corner of his mouth.

"Get your dog chops away from me!" I warn Sirius, making a cross sign with my hands for protection. Plus, he would find no snogging evidence because kissing hadn't really progressed to the neck... Not that it couldn't ever have! I bet she dreams of biting my neck… not like a vampire, or anything, but in a sensual way… Oh lord, I'm digging myself such a hole. Thank Merlin my friends can't read my mind and only you, my metaphorical audience, can.

"If it helps, I believe Lily kissed you," Remus tells me.

I smile gratefully in return. "Thanks, Moonypants."

His look of warmth instantly turns into a stony one. "I'm sorry, what did you just call me?"

"I'm thinking our Marauder names lack vulgarity lately," I tell him. "Add 'pants' to our nicknames and it solves the problem. I think mine is the best because it has alliteration."

"Prongsiepants," says Peter loud and clearly. I wave my hand leisurely as a non-verbal 'there you go'.

"Don't think you're special, Prongs," Sirius _crushes my dreams._ "Mine would also have alliteration."

I hate how he ruins my fun. I'm going to (mentally) call him Pooface to make myself feel better.

"Stop plotting against Sirius in your mind, James," Remus reprimands me, hearing me chuckle under my breath. If you switched 'Sirius' with 'your brother' and 'stop plotting in your mind' with 'stop hitting him with a mallet', we'd be like siblings and Remus would be like our father, but with a crude name: Moonypants.

"Oi, Moony pants," I address Remus. He's started walking to the Great Hall again as the whole commotion of Lily Evans kissing me has temporarily passed. I follow after him, and by follow I mean skip because no one can kill my elated mood!

"Prongs, have you got leg cramps again?" Peter asks me.

Can a guy skip in the castle and not be accused of being under some sort of walking deficiency?

"Why didn't you tell me Lily talked about me to you in the library regularly?" I question Remus. He looks a little embarrassed at my query.

"I was sworn to secrecy by her." He suddenly looks worried. "You're not angry at me are you?"

I laugh at him. Paranoid werewolf. "God, no, it's just… all that time I thought she didn't care anything for me, she…"

"Obviously did," Remus finishes for me. We exchange grins.

"Wait, wait, WAIT," Sirius cuts in. "I hate to cut in on your little moment here, but you and Evans _apparently_ kissed, so the bet is off?" He suddenly looks mortified. "No! Practically the whole of Hogwarts was _betting_ on your _bet!_ The profits were supposed to pay for my flying motorbike—"

"For Merlin's sake, if you mention that motorbike one more time I will transfigure Peter into one and run you over with him," Remus says acidly.

"If you do, make it a flying one," Sirius tells him. I can't help but laugh at this comment.

"Wait, so this stupid bet isn't off?" Remus says, realizing what had just been said behind the palaver of flying motorbikes and how much Sirius secretly wants to make love to one. "I thought you'd stopped it!"

"Oh no," I rectify. "The misses—"

"You're addressing her as your wife _already_?" Remus sputters.

"Well, I've kissed her so I might, as well." It makes sense – really, it does. "Anyway, the misses is rather superstitious, believing in the whole 'fate' rubbish. So basically the bet is still on."

Remus looks sad. "You could lose her completely in this, you know."

"I know," I grin.

"Why are you so happy?" he asks, a little mortified.

"Oh, I'm not. I cried in the shower this morning and I'm putting on a happy façade," I pull another fake grin.

"I thought so," Remus admits, probably used to my strange moods by now. "So, it's 'fate' that you're going to get your head shaved at the end of this?" he presumes.

"There you go with your cynical talk again!" I complain. "I'm going to win this bet, I'm telling you."

"You were knitting yesterday, James," Remus says. "_Knitting_. At an inhuman speed. I'm pretty sure you defied laws of physics with the speed you were going at."

They're talking nonsense. "Come on, I wasn't _that_ knitting-obsessed."

"This is the remains of my new jacket," Sirius says, depositing the handful of unravelled string in my hand. Oh… I _sort of_ remember that I slightly pulled on it yesterday in the common room… Woops?

"That doesn't prove how obsessed I was," I scoff.

Simultaneously, each Marauder brings out an entire collection of… knitted things, apparently knitted by me.

"This isn't even all the woollen articles you made me," Remus says, holding four pairs of socks, three sweaters, two gloves and scarves, and a woollen cover for a hot water bottle. "At around seven o'clock, you thought it would be fitting to knit toy animals."

Oh good God. "You have got to be kidding me!"

I watch Remus bring out a small woollen creature of some sort. It looks a cross between an antelope and a tortoise. "Meet Bernard," he tells me.

"You named it?"

"No, you did," Remus informs me with a sigh. I'm disgusted with myself.

"Please don't tell me I made more," I beg.

"Francis," Peter announces, bringing out another woollen monstrosity from his… pocket? I think it's a hippo… or a dog.

"What is it exactly, Wormtail?"

"You told me it was a bear. I beg to differ. It looks more like a gorilla…. except its green with spots." He pokes what I think is a limb of the animal. "I'm not sure if that's an ear or an outey bellybutton."

"I obviously wasn't colour aware when I was knitting obsessed," I say, admiring the horrendous colours of wool I used. I'm normally very colour coordinated. This disturbs me the most.

"I got the worse knitted toy," Sirius brags, bringing out something that is long and pink. It has stripes. I want to kill it due to its ugliness. "You told me it was a snake." He turns the thing at various angles, as though he would be able to recognize what it is at a different perspective. "I think it looks more like a penis."

"I would not knit you a penis, Sirius."

"This coming from the guy I thought would _never_ knit," he says, "I think anything is possible after watching that experience, mate."

"Thank God I only gave you lot animals," I sigh with relief. They look abruptly nervous. "Oh no," I read their not so good expressions.

"I'm pretty sure every person of our Gryffindor house owns one. I think you made so many knitted animals you had to make up your own," Peter says.

Suddenly Lionel Lovegood passes in the corridor, saying, "Geoffrey the Blibbering Humdinger says hello, James! And thanks for knitting him for me!" He throws me a polite wave and then hurries his way to the Great hall.

I created a Blibbering Humdinger?

Wait, Lionel actually believes that creature exists. I'm still sane.

Though I still want to maim myself.

"Breakfast first, James," Remus tells me, reading my suicidal look.

"Yeah, I want to get a good seat watching Evans comfort eat to death after remembering she kissed you," Sirius jokes.

Instinctively I reach out to smack him one, but he ducks. Stupid Quidditch skills of intuition….

Uh oh. I wasn't supposed to mention the 'Q' word.

"James is sobbing again, Moony."

"Leave him be, Padfoot. Leave him be."

**Lily**

The second I enter the Great hall, I make for the table, stealing a seat next to Carly who's already settled, nibbling on grapes - Merlin damn her and her healthy self. I hope the grapes come alive and attack her face, though not really.

After all the confusion caused between my feelings, my feelings for James, my feelings for humanity, my feeling for grapes and Carly eating them and generally grape consumption, I need something that has either chocolate or is sugar coated.

I grab something that is entirely sugar-filled: a pot of sugar for tea.

"You're eating sugar by itself?" Carly gasps, because she's healthy and I hate her, though not really. I wait for her to reprimand me about being unhealthy and give me _another_ homemade pamphlet on the good fruit versus the bad junk food in a badly drawn comic she drew in Herbology.

"Yesh, yesh I am," I mumble, in between a spoonful of sugar. A little sugar falls out of my mouth as I speak but luckily it falls back into the small pot.

"Excuse me," a third year pulls on my elbow, "Could you pass the sugar for my cereal?"

I turn to face him, glaring as sugar pours out of my mouth like a sweet waterfall. It's a rather spectacular sight.

"Erm… never mind," he mumbles, scooting further away from me down the bench.

"Can you pass me the chocolate spread?" I ask Lauren.

"Sure," she replies carefully, pushing the jar my way. I open it up.

"Um… don't you want a slice of toast with that, Lily?" Carly asks.

"Nope." I scoop my spoon into the jar and stuff the spoon full of thick chocolate spread into my mouth. Lauren and Carly squirm in unison. I realize I can make a delicious duo of chocolates spread and sugar by pouring the sugar into the jar. With no hesitance, I pick up the sugar pot and deposit it all into the jar. It overflows and my lap is covered in sugar. Didn't see that coming.

"Lily, have you gone mad?" Carly questions, helping me brush some sugar off my knees.

"Yes. Yes she has," Lauren answers for me. "She kissed James Potter last night, so I'm pretty sure she's comfort eating to death to forget it."

Carly gasps, "She _kissed_ James Potter?"

"I _never_ want to forget that memory," I divulge without thinking, sighing wistfully afterwards. My friends slightly gawk at me. "Sorry, I think my brain was replaced with a pathetic James Potter fancier for a second." I redden. "Pass me the croissants"

"Why? Are you actually going to eat some?"

"No, I'm going to throw them at him."

**James**

"Just as I guessed," Sirius says arrogantly, sitting back down from peeking at the other end of the breakfast table. "Evans is trying to kill herself by making her stomach explode."

"No she's not," I say, though I'm secretly worried. I'm not that bad of a kisser. Girls have told me kissing me is like kissing soft clouds!

… Well, one girl said that, and she was wobbling at the time, and her breath smelt of Firewhiskey. I'm pretty sure I'd never seen her in my life or even kissed her before. I think she mistook me for someone else….

"What did she eat?" Peter asks.

"She had a pot of sugar—" Sirius starts, then suddenly a croissant flies out of nowhere and bops him on the head, making me laugh. "Where the bloody hell did that come from?" he demands, munching on the thrown pastry.

"Ceiling?" I offer an explanation.

"Anyway, she had a jar of chocolate spread too—aaargh!" Another croissant pops up and hits Sirius in the face. He nibbles on that one, too. "And I'm pretty sure she was going to devour that small child sitting next to her—for the love of Merlin!" He cries out as another croissant hits him in the eye. "Who keeps doing that?"

"Dumbledore," I offer another explanation. We look over at the professor and he does oddly appear to be smiling in our direction. The bloke's always been a bit barmy, though.

"So Prongs," Sirius leans closer to me and grins, "how was it?"

**Lily**

"How was what?" I question, hurling another croissant in James Potter's situation – this time covered in strawberry jam. Sadly—though not so sadly, really—it hits Sirius in the ear.

"Come on Lily, I'm talking about kissing James Potter. How was it?" Carly urges me to tell by stealing my jar of chocolatey sugar.

"Give that back!" I demand.

"Not until you blab," Lauren says.

I blush a little, while eyeing my chocolate jar sorrowfully. "I'm not saying…."

"That bad, eh?" Lauren smirks, while Carly looks at me in genuine shock.

"No," I quickly shake my head, "No, not at all!"

"That _good_, eh?" Lauren rewords.

Yes.

"No!" I say instead, because my thoughts never win over speaking my mind.

"That bad, eh?"

"We're going around in circles, Lauren," I mention to her.

"Whatever it takes to make you blab," she grins.

"Look, you're not going to get anything out of me, alright!" I snatch my chocolate jar out of Carly's hands. "It's private stuff. I know you're my friends but please just respect that. I'm not going to say anything and hopefully James will do the same."

**James**

"TELL US EVERYTHING, PRONGS."

"WILL DO."

Remus stares between Sirius and I as we both exchange familiar Marauder grins. He says, "There was no need to shout those two sentences, you know."

"WE'RE EXCITED," we say mutually. "STOP SAYING STUFF I SAY," we say together again. "NO YOU STOP. NO YOU STOP. SERIOUSLY, STOP THAT—"

"_For the love of God, stop_," Remus hisses. "That thing where you speak at the same time creeps me and Peter out." Peter nods along vigorously. "It's like you share the same brain."

"Look Padfoot, I'm a walrus!" I press the croissants to my nose so they mimic as horns, but Sirius has already beaten me to it.

"Right ahead of you, mate," he guffaws, already holding two croissants to his nostrils.

"Sharing one brain would explain a lot…" Remus mutters.

"Anyway," I drop my croissants to the plate with a clang, "I will begin the tale of our snogfest in my bedroom—"

"I was there," Sirius cuts in, beaming.

"Sirius was there?" Peter repeats in horror, getting the wrong idea. "Why on earth was Sirius there?"

"He was on my bed," I say, then realize I said that wrong as Sirius frowns at me. "Fuck, I meant _under _my bed."

"What the heck was Sirius doing in your bedroom in the first place?" Remus asks.

"I was banging his brains out," Sirius replies nonchalantly.

"PADFOOT!"

"Yeah, you screamed my name much louder than last night, mate," Sirius adds to me. Remus and Peter stare between us, gaping. "I'm _kidding_, you tits," he says eventually. "Just trying to keep a light atmosphere…"

"I think you've successfully made it awkward," I grit through my teeth.

**Lily**

"So, describe to us what happened, Lily."

"I thought we established this already Carly, you barmy wedding enthusiast. My lips are sealed."

"Oh," I watch Carly bring out a Hogsmeade chocolate bar from her pocket, "but that was before I bribed you with this—"

"Deal!" I give in straight away, grabbing the chocolate bar from her and ripping it open. My friends watch me devour it in seconds. "So," I begin the story, "I was knocking on James' door…"

"_Hark! An angel knocks at my door! Such a, er, beautiful knock from such melodic fingers!" I heard James' voice comment from inside his dorm. _

"Yes, he did that say that, Lauren," I talk over her laughter. "Shut your face."

"Are you sure he didn't say 'knockers'?" Carly asks in between my story-telling.

"Yes, Carly. James said 'beautiful knockers'. For the love of… _Anyway_."

"_James, I must see you," I whispered from the other side of the door, and he quickly opened it, took my hand and gently pulled me inside. There were rose petals everywhere and we were surrounded by the dim light of candles._

_Then, he said, "And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes heaven drowsy with the harmony."_

"_Am I your love?" I asked him. _

_He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear and whispered, "When I saw you I fell in love with you, and you smiled because you knew." I felt giddily off my feet as he tipped me backwards and kissed me – one of those kisses you never want to end._

"Oh come on, that did not happen—"

"Don't interrupt my story, Lauren!"

_We finally parted and I murmured, "My only love, sprung from my only hate. You kiss by the book," I managed to speak before I let him kiss me softly again. I needed to stop it before we got too carried away. _

"_James! James, I must go!" I told him, finding it extremely difficult to break the kiss and make for the door, as though magnetized by him. Just as I was about to leave he stopped the door with his foot and seized my hand through the gap, his gaze intense. _

"_Parting is such a sweet sorrow, fair maiden," he said, stroking my cheek._

"_Goodnight, my love," I said._

_We kissed one final time and departed with a last hand squeeze…_

"And that's _exactly_ what happened," I say, clasping my hands together.

So _maybe_ I stole all the dialogue from Shakespeare.

… I'm getting no response.

"_Hahahahahahahaha_!"

There we go.

**James**

"So, this is what happened," I begin what will be a legend for years to come…

_I heard a knock at the door._

"_Who the hell is that?" I yelled from my bed._

"_Let me in. I want you," I heard a girl's voice whisper at the door gap. Naturally I was curious and opened the door, discovering Lily only in her underwear—_

"Here I was thinking you were going to tell the real story," Remus cuts over me, "But no, we have to listen to a ridiculously fabricated one—"

"Moony."

"Fine. I'm humouring you. Carry on."

_I was like, "What are you doing, Evans?" and she was like, "Hopefully _you_ by the end of the night." And I was like, "Really?" and she was like, "Oh yeah."_

"Oh dear God…" I hear Remus mutter.

_Then, she jumped me and we landed on the hard floor. She was straddling me, then she was kissing me and her tongue was dipping in my mouth – she has a really sexy long tongue._

"Like a serpent?" Peter buts in.

"No, just a really nice length to get in the crooks and crannies."

"Oh dear God…" Remus mutters again.

_She was kissing me hard and it was just mind-blowing, but I pushed her off me and straddled her instead, kissing her skin. _

_I was like, "You're going to have to try better than this, Evans."_

_And she's like, "Oh really?" and tugs on my hair and I groan and collapse on my side, and she straddles me again._

"Oh my God, this is the equivalent to porn," Remus says, coughing on his pumpkin juice.

"Continue," Peter prompts, not looking at all ashamed.

_She's all over me and I realized everything was going too fast, so I told her, "No Evans, we can't do this. I know I'm irresistible but I think you're making a mistake."_

"_I've never been surer about anything in my life," she whispered, kissing my ear. _

"_No Evans, we can't," I said, then gently picked her off me. She looked absolutely devastated – I mean, who could blame her? "If you still feel this way in the morning, we can continue this." I patted her head like she was an eager puppy – an extremely horny one. "Alright?"_

"_NO, JAMES, I WANT YOU NOW!" she yelled, jumping me again. I struggled to get out of her hold, yet at the same time not resisting. She was unbuttoning my shirt while unhooking her bra, and then her breasts popped out and I'm like HELLO THERE-"_

"No, no, NO, I'm going to stop you there," Remus loudly interrupted me, half-covering his ears.

"That's exactly what happened," I say, clasping my hands together.

"Brilliant," Peter comments, grinning.

"That is not what happened!" Sirius scoffs.

**Lily**

"I bet this is what happened," Lauren says, grabbing a spoon to represent me and a knife to represent James. Why a spoon represents me I do not know. Is she implying I have a large head?

Lauren wiggles the spoon, "Potter, let me in your dorm before I throw a hissy fit and call you a peculiar insult like 'baboon'!" She wiggles the knife, "Alright Evans, because you seriously scare the shit out of me sometimes! Blah blah, farting, blah blah, knitting, blah blah! James, I sort of fancy you! Sorry, I can't hear you, Lily; I'm currently sticking my knitting needles in a pleasurable place! Okay James, I'll wait! I'm done now, Lily! Okay James, I'll tell you again: I fancy you. _SNOOOOOOOOG_."

Lauren presses the two utensils together as though they're having utensil sex. She's so vulgar.

She wiggles the spoon again, "The snogging was so good James, but the bet is still on anyway because I'm stupid! Okay Lily, I'm going to hang myself now, bye!"

I watch Lauren dunk the knife into the chocolate spread.

"That was very… unique," I commend her.

"I liked the use of utensils to represent people," Carly says. "And the utensil sex. That was my favourite part."

**James**

"So, this is what happened," Sirius starts, picking up two croissants. "For the sake of my story I'm going to use a bagel to represent you, James, and a croissant to represent Evans, because they're prettier. And the breakfast muffin can be me because everyone loves muffins."

"Sirius, stop naming food as characters and get to the point," Remus says.

"Right," Sirius says, "So there I am, Tasty Muffin, hanging out in the Bagel's room, when suddenly Croissant knocks on the door. Bagel says, 'It's croissant! I'm gonna snog her… BY FORCE!' and I, Tasty Muffin, am like, 'No, that's wrong, mate. That's wrong.' And Bagel's like 'PISS OFF, YOU PRICK!' and kicks me in the face. And I'm bleeding and he ties me up and rolls me under the bed. Luckily I, Tasty Muffin, can still peek from under it. Then, Croissant comes in and says, 'There you are! We need to do buttering for our bread duties' and Bagel's like, 'I'm gonna snog your face off!' and she's like 'eh?' Then bagel gets out his lasso and starts snogging her while she's nearly on the point of passing out, suffocated by wool. And I'm like 'I have to save Croissant!' but I can't because I'm trapped under Bagel's bed, so I have to watch Bagel kiss an unconscious croissant for two hours."

I watch Sirius enter the end of the croissant into the bagel hole for a full ten seconds, until he decides, "And that's what happened."

"Uuuurgh James, you made out with a muffin!" Peter squirms.

"No, he made out with a croissant," Sirius corrects him.

"Still!" Peter shudders. "That is wrong."

"Not an actual croissant, Wormtail!" I groan in frustration. "Ugh, Moony explain it to him, will you?"

"I'm busy trying to get the mental image of food… with _mouths_… _kissing_." Remus threatens to stab a fork in his head; I stop him before he does.

"We need that," I gesture to his brain. "Anyway Wormtail, Lily represented the croissants—wait, wait, WAIT, never mind! Sirius' story was completely incorrect anyway. We were both conscious in the kissing!"

"Were her eyes open?" Sirius interrogates me.

"Well… obviously not when we were mouth-to-mouth—"

"Har! She was _asleep!_" Sirius slaps the table in jubilation. "Case solved!"

"Wait a second, Padfoot—"

"Oh look," Sirius points behind me, "Your misses."

Lily? I spin round and find her not so amused holding a jar of chocolate spread as she passes where I'm sitting on her way out of the Great hall. Lily Evans plus chocolate spread equals many dirty thoughts.

"Lily! Oh sweet cherry of my metaphorical dessert! I know we hit it off to a rocky start this morning where I sort of shouted unintentionally."

"Oh no, you didn't do that whole 'ARE YOU COMING FOR BREAKFAST?' thing, did you?" Remus accurately guesses with dread behind his voice. I cringe.

"Anyway, I was thinking, you know, even though the bet is still on, we can… you know… possibly do the whole bagel-croissant snogging thing anyway… What say you?"

I receive no response.

"Prongsiepants, you do realize Evans completely ignored you and left the hall ten seconds ago," Sirius tells me, "in which that small first year sitting by your left is wondering if you're addressing him."

I stare at the small boy.

"How do bread and pastry snog?" he asks.

"Er." I pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Ask your mum."

"But I don't have a mum."

Oh for God's sake, trust me to say something inappropriate to a kid that's probably an orphan.

"She's dead?" I say, on a lack of finding anything else fitting to voice.

"No, she's not. I just wanted to make you extremely uncomfortable – plus, I hate her guts," the small boy smirks.

"Sirius, I do believe we've found your inner child," Remus notes.

"The sad truth behind it is that even though you're joking, you're actually a hundred percent accurate," Sirius says.

"And another sad truth is that Lily just passed now and didn't acknowledge me whatsoever, thus crushing my soul and blanking out the best kiss I've ever experienced," I add.

"Oh… that, too."

"Sodding hell!" Sirius yells. "Who keeps throwing croissants at me?"

Inconspicuously, Remus whistles.

"Guys," I start rather lamely, "do you… do you think I'm a good kisser?"

At once, the boys leap from the table and make their way to class.

I think the intimacy of friendship only goes so far…


	10. James and James the Giant Peach

**A/N:** Sorry I've taken so long to update. For some unknown reason I find it incredibly hard to update this story sometimes, and I had a two week vacation where I didn't actually leave Britain, but I was sort of holiday-ing with a friend.

Anyway, I thought I'd take this opportunity to mention a new project of mine and my friend Kelly's called _ACCIO SANITY._

It's a project where the Marauders, mainly Sirius and Remus, and Lily included sometimes, write notes between each other in class through parchment form. You'll find the link on my profile! It's hilarious fun, and this chapter also relates to the project! All you have to do is go on my profile, click on part one and check it out. I'd love it if you would, papooses. But end of the shameless advertising, on with the chapter!

Thanks to Anna for beta-ing. _Schmoooooze _(heh heh, private joke, sorry…)

**Chapter 10**

**Lily**

I knew I shouldn't have woken up today. I knew it. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.

"Miss Evans!"

That's odd. When I decided to storm out of the Great Hall I'd thought James would follow me in a puppy dog fashion, but it seems _Professor McGonagall_ has decided to chase me down on this occurrence (ooer). Better inform her that James Potter has recently kissed me so she best keep a fair distance, and also advise her not to do such pursuing or Dumbledore might get the wrong idea and I don't want to be seen as competition for a certain Transfiguration teacher's affection.

"Miss Evans!"

I spin round to face McGonagall. Think Interested Face, Lily. Engrossed. _Fascinated_.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

Not again…. I used my I-need-to-pee countenance. Honest mistake.

"Was there something you wanted, Professor?" I move the conversation along. She looks disapproving all of a sudden.

"What I want, Miss Evans, is for you to return that jar of chocolate spread."

Uh oh. I prefer the professor in pussycat form.

I thought I could get away with it. Earlier, I really wasn't getting anywhere launching croissants at Sirius Black's head so I thought I'd go to Charms early (I was trying to aim them at James, but you know my bad eye-hand coordination – not to mention I've adopted some sort of bubonic plague like the Black Death, renamed Potter Death, because kissing James Potter has damaged my health, though not physically because my cold is gone but mentally I've gone bananas. I've gone bananas and been made into a banana beverage).

I figured, for far-fetched reasons, I could sneak the chocolate spread (mixed with tremendous amounts of sugar) out of the Great Hall and inhale it every now and then to keep me alive, because my survival rate of living knowing I've kissed James Potter is somewhere around zero. But, alas, McGonagall has found me out. Maybe it's the chocolate spread around my mouth. I look like one of those disturbing clowns, except with brown lipstick, the colour of a mouth that looks like it's been dipped into a dirty, un-flushed toilet.

I suppose it's best to play the 'not guilty' card as usual.

"What jar of chocolate spread, Professor?"

"That lump that you are holding under your shirt." McGonagall lowers her glasses on her nose, scrutinizing me.

_MAKE HER THINK YOU'VE PUT ON WEIGHT. _

…no idea where that voice came from (my subconscious, perhaps?), but I'll go with it.

"That's my _stomach_, professor."

There's an upside and a downside to this lie. She will now think I'm pregnant….or_…she will think I'm pregnant_—I've made a big mistake, there is no upside. From this day on, I will be called 'Preggers Head Girl'. 'Preggo Lily Evans'. 'Up-the-duff Lily'. 'Evans with child'…

"I apologize," McGonagall looks a little flustered. She bloody well should be for reminding me I'm fat while harbouring James' baby—oh good God, now my unhinged mind has convinced itself that I'm carrying James' child!

McGonagall tells me, "You better hurry to class….Actually, don't run, take your time." With a last squeeze to my shoulder she leaves me in the corridor to gawk and hold my chocolate spread baby to my abdomen.

I knew I shouldn't have woken up today. I knew it. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.

"Hey Lily!"

Ugh. Why can't people leave me alone with my chocolate spread? The Marauders have decided to grace me with their presence as they've unfortunately caught up with me in the corridor. I'm avoiding James' eyes in particular, but all the boys seem to be looking pointedly at my…stomach.

"Hello," James starts cheerfully, until his eyes lower to my lumpy tummy.

"Preggers Head Girl?" Sirius says uncertainly. Remus slaps his forehead.

"I'm not pregnant, you fool! It's a jar of chocolate spread," I assert, but don't reveal the jar in case any of those potential thieves decide to steal it.

"Oh _sure_," Peter says, unconvinced. "And Sirius' mother is a _lovely_ woman who _bakes_."

James stands deliberately in my line of path. "Want me to walk you to Charms?"

"If by 'Charms' you mean a very towering cliff into a tributary, then by all means, James, please do."

Merlin, I'm good.

"If there's nothing else left to say, my chocolate spread baby and I will be leaving. And don't you dare follow me," I warn James with a protruding finger.

"But I have to follow you…this is the only corridor to Charms."

"Then walk at least ten steps behind me at all times. And I don't mean tiny steps, I'm talking about I'm-taking-big-strides-to-avoid-the-large-dumps-of-horse-excrement-spattered-across-the-pavement pace."

Insert customary flick of the hair, crazy-scary gaze and I'm off on my way to Charms. Sirius appears to be guffawing behind me, but he's always laughing absurdly about something or other. His last public laughing outburst occurred whilst looking at his shoelace.

Once I get to Charms I spot an empty seat next to Carly, though it seems she wants to keep the seat empty. How do I know this?

She's hiding from me under her stool.

Subtlety has never been her forte.

"Carly," I greet her not so cheerfully, sitting on the stool and trapping her underneath.

"Lily, I can't get out."

"Sucks to be you, eh?"

"Lily, please let me out."

I release my bottom off the stool and she manages to untangle herself between the legs. Sitting on the stool next to me, she decides not to pointedly look at my lumpy tummy still carrying my chocolate spread baby, but my…forehead.

"I kissed James Potter," she murmurs, strangely to the top of my head.

"No, _I_ kissed James Potter, remember?" I reply.

"Oh, I know." She continues to stare at my forehead.

I blink at her. Perhaps the Potter Plague has begun and my head has swollen to an unnatural size. Before I can check with a pocket mirror, Flitwick strides to the front of the classroom. The Marauders manage to sneak seats at the back row at the last second as the door shuts. Flitwick takes in a deep breath. Whatever he's about to say will be a deep, thought-provoking launch into the lesson, but as he scans the room, his eyes land on mine and I've apparently done something wrong as he frowns in my general direction.

Hide the chocolate spread baby, Lily.

"Miss Evans," insert dangerous slits of the orbs, "wash that off your face immediately."

…I'm really not sure what to reply to that. Wash what exactly off my face? Make-up? I hardly put any on today…

"Professor," I start.

"You are Head Girl. Don't make me tell you twice," he warns.

Looks like a trip to the bathroom it'll be.

Feeling the entire class's eyes on me, I scrape back my stool and exit Charms to a chorus of…._giggling_? Directed at _me_? My well-formed ears better be deceiving me or a gazillion house points off everyone!

Once I get to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, sadly the nearest toilet as my idle legs only allow me to go so far a day, I walk up to a sink and…

Oh, _hell no_.

Don't freak out, Lily.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

"Myrtle!" I yell. "Stop screaming!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

"For the love of Merlin, Myrtle, SHUT UP!"

"That was you screaming that time."

"Sorry."

The words 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' mark my forehead in clear, black letters.

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

**James**

See, I would have told Lily that Sirius, the cunning fellow that he is, had secretly used a spell to plaster 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' to her forehead in our little bumping into each other on the way to Charms, but she'd done that mesmerising flick of the hair, and that crazy-scary gaze, and then she had walked off and her well-rounded bottom had done that cadenced wiggle and no man can ever resist a woman's bottom wiggle. You see, it's all about The Wiggling Bottom Theory—

"For God's sake James, I don't want to hear any theory about The Jiggling Buttocks—"

"It's called The Wiggling Bottom Theory," I correct Remus.

"I don't care. I'm trying to copy down Charm notes and all I can hear is you mumbling 'buttocks', which is coincidentally all I've written down as my notes because you've seem to have carved the word 'buttocks' into my brain—"

"Actually, I was mumbling _bottom_."

Remus shoots me an exasperated look. I've touched a Moony nerve.

"Do any of you lads happen to have any wool on you?" I ask promptly.

I receive blank stares from Remus, Sirius and Peter.

"Anyone? Anyone at all? Any wool? Anyone? Any wool?"

"NO," the boys chorus, earning them a strange stare by the class.

"Actually," a mischievous smile forms across Sirius' face, "I know someone who might own some wool…"

"Really?" I say excitedly.

"Yeah, her name is Mary."

My enthusiasm dies a little. "Really?"

"Yeah, look out for her and her little lamb."

Prickface.

"James," Remus starts gently. "You do realize what is happening here, don't you?"

"You're gonna have to spell it out to me, Moony."

Remus laces his hands together and sighs. "You're really not going to like what I'm going to say next but…you've replaced your Quidditch obsession with knitting. I'm sorry." He lets out the bad news as though a loving relative has died, patting my shoulder in sympathy.

I snort, "I have not replaced my love for Quidditch for knit—was that the scrape of knitting needles I just heard?"

"No, that was me scuffing my heel on the leg of my stool," Peter says.

"Oh." I look down at my feet. Perhaps Remus was right….however; if Remus Lupin were a _knitted jumper_, what would his opinion be then?

….Oh Good Lord, what's happened to me?

"Potter," the professor catches my attention by clicking his fingers. "The Head Girl appears to be taking quite a while in the bathroom. Go fetch her, please."

You go fetch her, you lazy bum of a teacher.

"Yes sir."

I am such a girl's blouse.

**Lily**

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

_It won't come off._

_But it has to come off._

"The harder you scrub the letters, the bolder the lettering is becoming—"

"SHUT UP, MYRTLE!"

This may be the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me. I've got to congratulate Sirius for this one, after I, you know, snap his little head off, dunk it into my jar of chocolate spread, and eat it with a side of crackers.

My forehead is a painful red from the scrubbing over the sink and the letters 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' appear to be bolder than before, as Myrtle politely pointed out.

"Would you be completely against the idea of changing places with me for a day, Myrtle? I've always liked you out of all the ghosts," I say quickly, as flattery gets you everywhere. "I can take your place as a moaning ghost. I can moan. Look." I suck in a breath. "WAAAAAAAAAH! How was that?"

"It's not really a 'waaaah' sound," Myrtle peeps behind one of the empty closed cubicles. "It's more of an 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh' sound, if you get me."

"Right." I nod. "Aaaaaaaaaargh," I try again.

"No, _aaaaaaaaaugh_."

I cough to clear my throat. "_Aaaaaaaaaaaaugh_."

"Better."

"Why are you two making sex moans?" the voice of sexy Satan asks from behind me. I spin round and—

"Oh my God, why is your forehead the same colour as one of those red Muggle post boxes?"

Thanks a lot, James. You really know how to flatter a girl.

"Any normal person would ask why the hell I have 'I kissed James Potter' across my forehead!"

"…Because you kissed James Potter?"

I feel sorry for his mother. I really do.

"_Jaaaaaaaames_," I watch Myrtle purr and it's insanely creepy. "I haven't seen you back in here in a while."

He takes a large step back and hides behind me, which is a little…_cute_, ugh. It's not long before I realize he is using me as a shield like the coward he is, as though Myrtle will suddenly ghost-rape him.

"For a reason," he hisses at Myrtle. I shoot him a look, wanting an explanation. "In fifth year I was desperate for the loo and this was the nearest one. She jumped me on the bog and I'm pretty sure I was violated by a ghost," he whispers in my ear.

"It was dark that night!" protests Myrtle. "I didn't realize you were in there!"

"It was three in the afternoon!"

"Please," I cut in, putting my hands in the air. "Let's not argue who molested who here."

"Of course it wasn't me," Myrtle scoffs. "I don't have any organs."

She has a point there.

"What do you want, James?" I ask, hoping the matter of him being sexually assaulted by a ghost has passed.

"The professor was wondering what was taking you so long…..are you doing your hair, or something?"

…_really_ sorry for his mother.

"What does it say on my forehead, James?" I ask in a deadly tone.

I watch him cringe. "You see, I was going to tell you about that at the time, but…well, let me explain, there's this whole Wiggling Bottom Theory—"

"Does this Wiggling Bottom Theory involve _my_ bottom, by chance?"

"Actually, yes."

"Then don't tell me."

The sight of his disappointed face pleases me.

"Come on," James pulls on my elbow and I let his hands rest there snugly for a second. "We should get back to class."

"Actually, Myrtle and I have decided to swap lives."

James stares at Myrtle questioningly. I see her mouth 'SHE'S CRAZY' as she points to me, before flying off into her toilet.

"Swap lives, you say?" James says in a worried tone.

"Yes, I've learnt how to moan properly. See." I suck in another breath. "_Aaaaaaaargh_."

"It's aaaaaaaaugh—"

"SHUT UP, MYRTLE. As I was saying: _aaaaaaaaugh_—"

"Stop," James begs. "Really. The moaning is radiating sexiness."

"You are strange," I say plainly.

"Says the crazy woman doing sex moans in a bog who wants to swap lives with a ghost."

He has a point.

"Your elbow is very soft—"

"Get off my elbow," I finally push him away.

"Lily, we should really get back to class."

I glare at him. "I am not going back to class until this-" I point at my forehead "-is gone from my face."

"But I don't know how to get rid of it!"

"Well, it looks like I'll be living in a loo until it disappears then."

James looks at me with disbelief. "But it smells like wee here," he whispers, as though we're in a crowded room and 'wee' is a forbidden word.

"I'll get used to it. Besides, the smell will remind me of my grandmother."

"That's lovely," James comments on my gran smelling like urine. "I'd just like to mention that I don't think it's hygienic to do our baby-making in here."

He never thinks before he speaks.

"You're wearing the scarf I knitted you," he perks up suddenly, pointing to the red garment around my neck. Quite the slow observer, he is.

"Don't freak out," I warn him. "It doesn't mean anything. Don't get excited."

Wow, he's actually twitching as he holds back from celebrating.

"Fine," I give in. "You can—"

"YES!" he punches the air, grinning. Wearing the scarf he knitted for me means _that_ much to him. Interesting.

"I have a plan," he suddenly announces, staring at my scarf.

"You're going to tell me to wear my scarf as a turban that covers my forehead, aren't you."

"Only if you don't punch me in the crotch after."

**James**

Phlegm kind of tastes like chicken. Or it could just be because I had chicken for dinner.

….Sorry, for the over-mention of phlegm. I seem to be seeing a lot of it today. It's because I've caught a cold. Off Lily. One kiss and she had me under her phlegm-y, cold, tissue-ridden, sniffing trance.

I have to say…I'm damn proud of myself. For catching a cold off Lily, I mean. Better to catch a cold off kissing a girl rather than…you know…normally.

"Stop sniffing, stop sniffing, for the love of God, stop sniffing," Sirius says, and I do by command….but sniff one second later. He makes an annoyed moan, summons Peter, and the two get up from in front of the common room fire and make their way to the dormitories. Surely my sniffing isn't that annoying…

"Are you planning to have two nostrils by tomorrow morning? Because if you sniff any more it'll just disintegrate into one."

It seems Remus has persisted in keeping me company.

"Har har," I remark, and then remember I need to ask for his advice and put on my pity face, a pity face full of phlegm. "I need your help, Moony. You were right earlier. Spot on. Instead of thinking about Quidditch, all I can think about is Lily's wiggling bottom – which is normal, of course." Remus rolls his eyes. "But more significantly, I can't stop thinking about…knitting."

"I have the solution, James," Remus informs me, and I praise the heavens. "What you need is another distraction, a distraction that won't cause you or others any harm."

"Well, I never thought about cross-dressing until now—"

"I'm not suggesting cross-dressing, James."

"…Oh," I mumble, and sniff.

"I'm suggesting," Remus leans in closer and cracks a genuine smile. Oh no. Cue the dun-dun-duuun music. "Reading."

The werewolf has officially gone mad.

"Is this is a prank?" I ask bluntly. Oh, I know what's going on! "Harharhar, I'm one of those Muggle television shows, aren't I? I'm on camera and this is a wind-up!" I laugh heartily, slapping my knees.

"I'm completely serious, Prongs. _Reading_. _For fun_."

"You can read for _fun_?"

Remus leaps up from his seat, obviously offended.

"I'm kidding, you plonker. Sit down," I force him back in his seat.

"If you're not going to take this seriously, James—"

"I will, I promise." My fingers are obviously crossed. I'm a Marauder, after all. "Go on."

"Reading, to popular belief and my own, is an interesting pastime that not only benefits things such as broadening your general knowledge and widening your vocabulary—"

_Snooooooore. _

"I really don't appreciate the verbal snore from you, James."

Bugger, I really have to stop saying thoughts out loud.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," Remus grinds through his teeth. "Reading would benefit you. A lot. But I know the whole idea of it is a little intimidating to you, so I thought I'd start you off with something easy." Wow, he's evidently prepared as he reveals a book from behind his back. I stare at the book he hands to me.

"Moony….this is a picture book."

I'm quite insulted.

"So what if it is? I started Sirius off on this same picture book and now he reads Shakespeare on a daily basis!"

"That's a lie."

"You were a lot easier to deceive last week. That kiss from Lily has made you into a mildly wise man."

"I know." Sighing, I hand him back the picture book. "Give me another book, I think I stole this from you last year and read it. Colourful pictures, it had."

I can see Remus is holding back from laughing at me. "Right, I have another book in mind I think you might enjoy….and that's mainly because the title has your name on it."

"Wowza, there's a _book_ about _me_?"

"Not a book about you, a book about a boy who shares your name," Remus corrects. Same thing, I say. He brings out the small book and I spot the cover illustrated with a small boy….resting on a giant….peach.

"Is that a boy on a giant peach?" I ask curiously, hunching closer.

"Coincidentally, the title is called 'James and the Giant Peach'," he informs me. "James Henry Trotter."

"Rhymes with Potter," I notice aloud. I flick through the book and because I'm a little warm, use it to fan my face, which Remus notices with a scowl. I sniff because one was due and Remus looks at the book worriedly, afraid I might attack it with a sneeze.

"So what does this James do? Is he a hero? Does he save a red-haired maiden in distress? Do they have many babies?"

"He's _seven years old_, James."

"I don't think this book is about me anymore," I mention, after many horrifying mental images.

"I think you'll like this book, James," Remus smiles. "It's odd, like you." Charming, Moony. Charming. "Plus, it should last until morning and keep your mind off Quidditch, knitting, and Lily." He gets up from his seat and pats me on the shoulder while I stare at the strange book in my hands. "I'll leave you to read alone. I'm off to the library. I'll see you later."

I slowly wave him off, still examining the front cover of a small child sitting on the large beanbag which is a giant piece of fruit. I imagine sitting on a banana would be more enjoyable. It would be like a giant fruit slide.

…Better get cracking on reading, then.

Page One…

**Lily**

Whoever invented kissing should be killed.

I'm not overreacting.

Seriously, getting rid of kissing would spread fewer illnesses like colds; there would be fewer cold sores. I mean, is kissing really necessary? Surely humans can….reproduce, without touching mouths…right?

Yes, I'm only saying this because I've been wearing my scarf on my head, so that it covers the recent 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' tattoo on my forehead, like a turban, all bloody day. I haven't seen Sirius yet so I've had no chance to eat him. The jar of chocolate spread is ready in my room for my meal of Sirius' head spread on a delectable cracker. Sirius' head won't be delectable, just the cracker.

Today has been a cold day, so on the bright side my head has been kept warm. I try to think about the upside of my head being balmy, but I just can't get over the fact that the entire population of the castle has been laughing at me, in front of me or behind my back, because I'm wearing a scarf-turban. Maybe just wearing a turban wouldn't have been so humorous, but it's the fact that I'm using a red knitted scarf to create a makeshift turban that makes it worse.

"This has been the worst day of my life," I complain to Carly and Lauren in the library.

"You're just a little stressed out," Lauren says.

Carly has been staring at my scarf turban for the past twenty minutes. "You look pretty," she snorts, patting my head like a pet dog. The scarf turban comes loose and I unravel it, hooking it back round my neck. I ignore the sniggers of fellow classmates in the library and make sulky faces at my friends, trying to forget my forehead tattoo is still there.

"How do I...release stress, then?" I question.

Lauren shrugs, "Hit things?"

I promptly hit a thing.

"That wasn't an invitation to boot me in the leg under the table."

I stick out my tongue at Lauren, "You didn't say what things to hit."

I turn to Carly for an answer, but she's been jotting down Potter wedding plans instead of researching for homework. Perhaps she isn't the person to go to in search of answers.

"I'd suggest a stress-releasing activity but you'll just boot me in the leg too."

"Carly, if you suggest snogging James I will add you to my list of people to devour on top of crackers along with Sirius Black."

"Actually, I wasn't," Carly mentions quite smugly. "But ooo, that was a good suggestion!" I kick her in the shins. "Ow for that. But anyway, my suggestion is Quidditch."

"You are on my list!"

"Oh no, Lily, please! It was a good suggestion!"

"It actually was a good one," Lauren adds with another shrug. I glare at her too.

"You both know exactly what I feel about Quidditch."

"Come on Lily, an hour ride on a broom would probably do you some good," Lauren encourages me. "I know in First Year the broom didn't exactly rise to the occasion, but maybe you should give it another go."

Carly smirks, "If you don't, it just proves that there's something out there Lily Evans _can't_ do."

"But I can do everything!" I protest.

"Except fly," Lauren says immediately.

"I can fly! I was just unlucky First Year. Flying is easy, especially if James Potter can do it."

"Go on, then," Carly prods me.

"Right!" I raise my head high. "I'll go take a fly now! Goodbye!"

After marching my way to the Head Tower, I have an uncanny feeling Carly and Lauren tricked me….

**James**

Roald Dahl is officially on crack.

I've been reading James and His Giant Penis—Peach, wait. Sorry, James and THE Giant _Peach_. What a complicated title, honestly. I like books with just one word titles, to be completely honest. They're easier to remember.

But anyway, I've been reading James and His Giant Penis—wow, did I just make the same mistake twice in thirty seconds? I've been reading the book for about three minutes and I don't like it. Remus said the book is like me. I am apparently on crack in his eyes.

When this James boy (brilliant name, by the way) was four years old, he became an orphan because _apparently_ his parents were swallowed by a rhino.

The insanity doesn't stop there.

This kid lives with his two aunts, Spiker and _Sponge_. _Sponge_. Sponge is what you clean a dirty plate with. I mean, what kind of peculiar name is that? It's not as though me and my friends have weird names like Wormtail and—oh, wait, we do…

**Lily**

In my dormitory, I stare at James' Quidditch broom in the wooden trunk at the bottom of my bed I locked a few days ago for safekeeping. I don't own a broom myself, and neither do Carly and Lauren, so it looks like James' will have to do…

Do I really want to ride something James has ridden? Maybe I should ask his permission first….

HARHAR. Yeah, _right_. He didn't ask permission to kiss me last night, or to be so bloody unintelligible. I don't need to ask him for anything!

With the broom (cleaned first, I don't want crotch germs) held over one shoulder, I raise my head high again and exit my dorm. It doesn't take long before I'm out of the castle, crossing the grounds, and on the Quidditch pitch. It's a bit chilly, but you can't argue with the weather.

I set the broom on my grass and hold out my arm elegantly.

Let's get this flying thing over with already. I'm probably brilliant at it.

I CAN DO EVERYTHING.

"Up!"

…Or not.

"Up, you bastard of a broom!"

…wow, didn't think that would actually work.

**James**

I'm finding the book a bit boring now. I decided to just read the summary and ask a few Muggleborns in the common room about the plot of the book in case Remus checks back to see if I actually read it or not.

James flies to New York on that peach. On a giant fucking peach.

That just…_makes my head explode_.

Not only that, but there's insects in the giant peach. They flatten the two aunts with the funny names anyway, to my relief. But still, giant flying fruits of doom. I still believe that if the giant fruit were a banana, much more fun would occur. Not to mention you could make the giant banana into a river of banana milkshake, and, as I mentioned before, the banana would make an ideal slide—

"Prongs, I was using my binoculars to spy on—I mean, _bird-watch_, and I saw someone on the Quidditch pitch with your broom."

—and why a giant peach? Did this Roald Dahl favour peaches or something? I'm not particularly a fan of them. It's the unnecessary seed in the middle that bugs me. With bananas, there's none, plus you have the skin afterwards: a pranker's ideal weapon to make unlucky citizens slip, and—

Wait, what?

Someone, other than me, has _my broom_?

"I'll be leaving now," I tell Sirius, who had come down into the common room especially to report the thief. I hand Sirius _James and the Giant Peach_ on my way out, and he yells after me, "Someone wrote a book about _you_?" But I don't answer him.

I've got an arse to kick.

**Lily**

I hate him, but not really.

I'm flying on his broom and I hate him (but not really) because he was right all along about flying.

Once I asked him what the appeal of Quidditch was, why it was so bloody engaging, and he replied something incoherent about The Feeling you got when you flew and wouldn't stop nattering on about until I shouted "BREASTS!" and he promptly shut up.

I think I finally understand where he's coming from. From up here, the clouds your only acquaintances, everything seems insignificant. Problems you thought were immense, such as my forehead tattoo that better be temporary, don't seem that problematic anymore. Sure, the forehead tattoo is something to worry about, but it's something to worry about _later_. Everything can be worried about _later_. All to think about now is keeping up on this broom and not falling to my messy, spectacular death.

I haven't had this feeling since I got several teeth pulled out at the Dentist's and had to live on ice-cream for two days. When you've eaten ice-cream for breakfast, dinner, lunch and brunch, you hit some sort of delusional state of mind where you feel like you're floating on clouds lingering above a castle entirely made out of double chocolate-chip ice cream with a chocolate sauce moat.

I'm feeling The Feeling he's talking about.

I hate him, but not really.

I'm flying on his broom and I hate him (but not really) because he was right all along about flying.

**James**

Standing on the Quidditch pitch, I look up and spot an unknown figure zooming amongst the clouds. Flying rather well, might I add.

On _my_ broom. I could spot Suzie anywhere.

….You have to name your dearest possessions or they will never truly perform to their full potential. I learnt that from my mother.

Come on now James, don't freak out. Just kindly ask this person to fly down and—

"OI, YOU!"

…Never did follow my thoughts.

The figure in the air stops momentarily to look down at me, and as they're hovering, I take the chance to study who they are, spot a familiar scarf and…

Oh my giddy aunt Sponge, it's _Lily_! Riding my broom. Riding something I've ridden.

Lily, hovering on my broom like that, red hair blown back so it no longer frames her face and you see those perfect curves of her cheeks, and my scarf that blows steadily in the wind like one that's mounted on a sandcastle….her in that position…she looks the spitting image of Page Seventy Two of my _Quidditch Girls_ magazine.

Since it's Lily, I can call her down more politely—

"OI, YOU!"

Merlin James, THINK.

I watch her fly down in intricate turns in the air until she plops on the grass neatly as though she's been flying since she shot out of her mother's uterus.

"Hey." She looks a little cautious, as though she's expecting me to blow up at her. But all I can think of to say is…

"You gave me a cold."

I slap my forehead.

"I gave you a cold," Lily repeats with a snort. "Boo hoo James. I've got Potter Death because of you!"

P-Potter Death?

….Aw, she made up her own disease! That's so adorable!

"Go on," Lily says. I look at her in confusion. "Go on, tell me off. I used your precious broom without your permission. Go on. Yell at me."

I….

"Do something, James."

She looks worriedly at me as I sputter "I…" pathetically at her.

"I…I think the image of you on my broom is the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

She's going to slap you for that, Potter.

Yep, she's flung your broom to the grass, my poor Suzie, and now she's marching towards me with an attractive glint in her eye and—oh.

_Oh_.

Didn't think kissing would ever crop up during this conversation. A little shocked that she's decided to jump at me with her lips, I fall back on the damp grass with her on top of me. My hands slide round her waist while hers curl round my neck, pulling me closer to deepen the kiss. There's a breeze and we're shivering and she tastes good after flying.

"This is so going to make us incredibly ill," Lily mutters between kisses.

I sniff in agreement.


	11. A drunken Potter is a dangerous thing

**A/n**: So….wowza, it's been like a year since I started this story. Good grief.If that doesn't prove how true my penname is I don't know what does. But anyway, please blame my sixth form college I've started for any future late(r) updates of my writing.

Just want to mention this story is very nearly finished! I'm thinking around two chapters left! Woooooooo.

Thanks to Anna/Moony for beta-ing. Forgot to mention: chapter dedication to Leonie! SEE, I REMEMBERED….EVENTUALLY. WAAAH.

**Chapter 11**

Kissing James will never get old.

You know there are those couples; the ones that have been together so long and their relationship has become so dull and terrible that kissing their partner is considered a chore? Well…I can never imagine that happening with James.

I don't know why I suddenly jumped at him, except for the obvious explanation: I am truly insane. But other than that, it was probably just a method of shutting him up from making any more perverted comments.

It's weird but The Feeling I got while flying on his broom earlier, that feeling of floating, it's still fluttering at the bottom of my stomach like a drunken butterfly, and I realize that kissing James gives me that same adrenalin rush, not that I'll ever tell him that (we don't want his head to inflate so much he's incapable of walking and he has to drag his scalp across the floor over rocks and grass and the occasional pets excrement because of their lazy owners—I mean, how hard is it for them to pick up their dog's poop? For Merlin's sake! What were we talking about again?).

I can hear my teeth chattering and I can actually _feel_ his vibrating in his mouth as he kisses me.

"M-m-merlin, I'm so cold," he says – at least, I think he said that. It's difficult to understand what another is saying when they're kissing you and trying to speak and their teeth are chattering at a hundred miles per hour.

"C-can't we do this i-inside like n-normal people?" He speaks with much difficulty. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, right, we're n-not normal, are we?" He lets out a chuckle, and I feel like smiling, but when I try I just end up squirming from the cold and tightening my arms around his neck in hope of warmth. It doesn't work, and I only succeed in strangling him a little. He makes a choking sound. I don't worry too much.

"This is," he pauses to breathe, shivering from the cold, "messed up, isn't it?"

I press my ear to his chest and believe I can hear a heart thumping, one that's beating quite fast. So James Potter is human! On many accounts I thought he was an alien. "What's messed up?" I enquire.

"Us," he says vaguely. I prod him in the stomach to go on. "Our situation. We've made a very significant bet yet we do stuff like this. Kind of makes my brain explode."

"Everything makes your brain explode," I state the obvious. "_Crosswords_ make your brain explode, James—"

"Oi." He nudges my shin with his. Rushes of wind whistle through the air, making my hair look even more chaotic. The breeze wakes me to reality, and suddenly I'm incredibly embarrassed for using James as furniture. I know chairs have to suffer under my body weight, but an actual person supporting me? Goodness, that must be unpleasant.

"What?" James notices my uncomfortable expression. "What's wrong? You haven't wet yourself, have you?"

I immediately scowl at him for ruining the mood. "Of course not! Don't be vile."

"Thank goodness." He looks mighty relieved. "It happened once to me before and I don't want a repeat."

I squirm. "You witnessed somebody wetting themselves in front of you?"

"Apparently eleven year old girls are extremely jittery."

I can't comprehend what he's saying, as usual. "But what did you do to make her wet herself?"

"She caught me peeing in a bush."

"…does anything relatively sane happen to you?"

James pauses for contemplation. "Once I had porridge for breakfast…."

Wow, something normal.

"Then Sirius set my hand on fire."

Spoke too soon.

"I can't feel my down below bits," he mentions all of a sudden, and isn't he bloody lucky because I can actually feel his press up against me and _UGH, MALE ANATOMY, UGH_. "Perhaps we should go back inside?"

"Perhaps," I agree, which means 'gladly' in Lily Evans Language and _UGH, MALE ANATOMY, UGH. _

"Want to go back to the castle for hot chocolate?" he asks, once we're standing again.

"Hot chocolate isn't a euphemism for you-know-what, is it?"

James looks at me blankly. "It's You-Know-_Who_," he thinks he's correcting me.

"_No_, I'm not talking about Voldermort—"

James fake-gasps, "You said his name! You're gonna get it!" He sticks out his tongue as he pokes me continuously in the stomach. I let him do it for a while hoping he'll get distracted by something shiny like a Nifflers do, until he's at his fifteenth time and I wish I was a ghost so his hand would go straight through and he'd let off a girlish scream and _if he does it once more I'm going to smack him round the head with a bench. _

"Woah!" He suddenly detracts his hand, shoving it under his shirt for protection. I spot a flash of his skin from his waist—oh God, that better not have been a moment of perving on James Potter in a perverted fashion of perversity. "What was that I just touched there?" he asks me in panic.

"That was my bellybutton."

"Oh, thank Merlin," he praises with relief. "I thought I'd prodded an abnormal hole in your stomach…you know, like a black hole….except in your stomach, one that would probably be handy in holding stationary, or be used as a waste bin…"

I can't help but erupt into laughter - at his expense, no doubt. "Stop making me laugh, you'll get amnesia."

"Stop finding me amusing, then," he retorts with a smirk, but quickly looks confused. "And how exactly will I get amnesia?"

"I'm not finding you amusing, I'm finding you unhinged. And the amnesia will be a result of me picking up that large rock southwest from where we're standing and clubbing you round the head with it."

James stares at me in silence, trying to figure out whether I'm joking or not. "Hot chocolate?" he says hopefully.

"Sure," I accept his offer with a genuine smile.

"Oh," James looks at something behind my shoulder, "and pick up Suzie while you're at it."

He walks ahead, apparently expecting me to follow him. He doesn't look back. I stand frozen to the ground.

_Suzie?_

"I'm sorry, but who is Suzie?" I demand furiously. He spins back round, looking alarmed. "One of your groupies you want me to _hit on _for you?"

He turns pink when he answers, "I was talking about….my broom."

Oh! Oh now I understand! He named his broom Suzie!

_Why am I not relieved?_

"Should I be jealous?" I ask James, picking up the Quidditch broom and dusting it off. "Have you named other possessions, like…your quill? Is she called Joanna? Do you name your toes individually and are all of them of male names?"

"First off, it's not Joanna, it's Elizabeth. Secondly, naming _toes_?" James laughs heartily at me. I don't get what's so amusing. "That's _stupid_."

Because naming something you write with is brighter.

"Well, here's your _Suzie_," I use extra emphasis on its name to tease him, holding out his broomstick ready for him to take. All of a sudden, a thought hits me, and I feel like everything in our surroundings has turned into slow-motion.

If he takes the broom, that very second his fingers touch the wooden handle, he'll lose the bet. It's against the bet rules to touch anything Quidditch related, and in a matter of seconds his hand will connect with that broom. My mind races in panic. Has he forgotten? Or has that want of touching a broom returned and he just can't resist, just can't oppose to taking a hold of that wooden handle and racing into the sky?

But it's not too late! His fingers are nearly there but I can stop him just in time if I want to. I can pull back the broom and his hand will miss and he won't win the bet. Yet…

My hand is frozen. It might just be from the cold, or it could be a part of me that wants me to see if he'll make the mistake, answer the question if he's really foolish enough to take the broom. Or he just doesn't care about the bet anymore, which means that deep down he doesn't care about _me_ enough—

"Woah." James takes a step back and puts his hands high in the air, just millimetres before his index finger brushed the wooden grain. I release a large exhale and realise I'd sucked in a breath the whole time watching James and the actions that might have taken place.

He didn't touch it. He hasn't lost yet.

My somewhat elated smile falls as I read his face, one of slight anger towards me.

"I can't believe you." He looks at me like I've wronged him and I hate that look upon his face – it's one _I_ normally make at _him_. "You nearly tricked me! I could have touched that broom and I could have….I could have lost the bet, and…do you want me to win this bet or not, Lily?"

That shouldn't be a difficult question, since there's only two answers to choose from, except I find myself mumbling admittedly, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" he repeats in confusion. "What do you mean you don't know? You kiss me, _twice_, and you don't know?"

I want to tell him that I'm glad he didn't touch the broom but I can't find my voice. All I can do is watch his pupils, dancing from right to left as they seek out mine.

"I wish I could just read your thoughts, Lily."

No you don't, James.

"I just…I wish I could get inside that head of yours."

You really don't.

I feel so awkward I find it hard to stand upright, but I blame it on the cold weather. The conversation has taken such a gloomy turn. "Are you coming in?" I ask him quietly, gesturing to the castle.

"Nah, later. You go ahead." His tone is cold as the frosty air. I want to walk inside with him. I want others to see and get the wrong idea of us two in each other's company. I want misunderstandings.

"Bye, then," I tell him. I pause for a moment, hoping he will change his mind, but he doesn't. With his broom in my hand, I make the chilly journey back to the castle alone.

I look back to catch James looking at _my_ back as he walks away, but he isn't even looking, just staring out at the Quidditch pitch with a gaze that hurts me and says _I miss it, so much._

**James**

As I gaze out at the Quidditch pitch, I can't help but think back to old memories of Quidditch practices, my team working their butts off to stop me hounding them, the matches that made your stomach turn in nerves before you walked on that pitch to a chorus of cheers, like you were famous, like you were born to be there.

I wonder what James and his giant penis—

….Pretend I didn't just make that mistake. Ahem.

I wonder what James and his giant _peach_ would do in this situation.

….He'd probably just forget the bet and bugger off on his giant, flying peach sorbet to a chorus of singing lap dancers perching on a fucking rainbow.

But don't take my word for it. I haven't entirely read the book.

"Captain Potty!"

I'm hoping it's Lily with a new peculiar nickname for me, but then I realize she wouldn't call me Potty to my face—wait, yes she would, but she doesn't call me Captain, only members of my Quidditch team call me Captain. And I really don't want to see anyone from my Quidditch team at the moment.

Marlene stands before me with—I whimper when I see it—a stunning Quidditch broom over her shoulder. Out of everyone on my team, she's the last one I want to see.

"What crime have I committed to deserve your awful company?" I ask.

"Pointing out all the faults of your character would not only take seven hours but would also make you very, very depressed." She ends on a smirk. If looks could kill, I'd want a thousand eyes glaring at her.

"Must you be so evil?" I sigh melodramatically. "Guys would be less afraid of you by a small fraction and would possibly ask you out - _if they were paid, that is. _Dominic would loosen you up if you went out with him," I bring up the alcoholic of the team who, for implausible reasons, has take a shine for her – though he was drunk at the time when it seemed apparent that he liked her, so I wouldn't take my word for it. "But no, you would only go out with him if you had a heart transplant, bearing in mind you don't have a heart to begin with—"

"Do you want me to _quit_ this team, Captain?"

I plaster on a fake smile. "I'm sorry, what have I done to merit your sublime presence at this moment?"

"Oh," Marlene begins to clean her nails, looking bored with the conversation already, "I didn't come here looking for you. I came to play some Quidditch."

I grind my teeth in response. Do not…hit…a girl. "Are you rubbing it in my face that you can play Quidditch and I can't?"

Marlene grins, "No! No, _this_ would be rubbing it in your face." All of a sudden, she breaks into a dance, waggling the broom in my face while at the same time doing an upbeat jig. "_I can play Quidditch and YOU CAN'T_," she boasts.

_I could just break her broom and we'll both be in the same situation._

She looks stern unexpectedly, something I can't take seriously after that horrifying dance she did earlier. "I come practice here everyday, you know."

I admit I'm stunned by her words.

"No way," I reply stubbornly. I would know is she practiced daily here; I'm her Captain, for Merlin's sake.

"I'm not pulling your leg. It's true." She looks a little discontent at what she's saying. "I even come back after Quidditch practices with you and the rest of the team. I practice until my hands are numb." She flexes her fingers in front of her, admiring the creases of her palms. "I only do it to get better than you, despite the fact that I know I never will." I expect her to say this in a bitter way, but she's smiling nonetheless, shooting me a look which implies I should be pleased she's giving me a compliment that I'm one of the very best.

She turns to me, her expression oddly more affable than usual. "Bet you didn't know that, did you?"

"No," I admit, sadly, too.

She isn't afraid to laugh at me. "Shows how much you know about your team, doesn't it?"

Yeah, it really does show.

"That's the problem with you," she continues, a somewhat pitiful look thrown in my direction. I never knew she had empathy. "You think too much about the game, about winning. Maybe once in a while you should take a step back and get to know the people around you more."

Her words really affect me, and though our discussion started off bitter at first, I'm glad we've had it because I feel a lot more respect for this girl. However, before I can thank her on her thought-provoking advice, she jumps on her broom with a, "See you, Captain!"

I watch her for a few minutes as she flies in the air, practicing dives and pushing the speed of her broom to its limit. She's got better – hell, she's got a lot better, and I never noticed. I realize until now I haven't paid enough attention to my actual team, the ones who help me win, but instead have been focused on the idea of winning itself.

Then I realize how much this theory of winning relates to the bet with Lily. Do I only want to win because I hate losing? Or is it because I'm just pathetically in love with this girl?

I stuff my hands in my pockets and make my way back to the castle, Marlene's words echoing through my mind the entire time.

**Lily**

After the incident with James, I can't help but feel moody and gloomy and other depressing adjectives that end with the letter 'y'. He's made me question everything and realize something quite daunting: I don't know what I want.

Luckily, all profoundly depressing thoughts are shoved off a very soaring cliff as I enter Gryffindor Tower looking for Carly or Lauren, finding someone even better…

Sirius-tosser-Black.

Instead of announcing my arrival, which rudely he hasn't noticed, I decide to keep silent and kill him taking advantage of the element of surprise. I've heard it's all the rage these days.

As I approach him in quiet footsteps, I discover him sitting on the chair nearest to the common room fire (something I can easily push him into, hoorah), yet his face is blocked so I can't see that mug of his which females find so attractive. His face is hidden by a…a BOOK? He must be taking the piss!

_No_, on closer inspection, he's reading _James and the Giant Peach _by Roald Dahl—ooo! I've read that book! I must ask Sirius what he thinks of—DON'T GET DISTRACTED, LILY. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE KICKING HIS BUTT.

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

So much for the element of surprise. He immediately drops the book and curses in terror, "Holy Merlin!" as he spots me, trying to scramble for escape. But it's too late as I latch my sharp fingernails onto his collar and hold him up, so much he's on his tiptoes.

"You are in serious trouble!"

I mentally slap myself. How could I have used the word 'serious' in front of Sirius, it disgusts me…

"Get this tattoo off my forehead right this second!" I command. He looks pretty startled. Surely he expected I would find him eventually?

"How do you know it was me?" he asks with a cringe.

"How do…HOW DO I KNOW? Do you see this, Black?" I point to a small blackish mark hovering above my right eyebrow. "Do you see it? I wondered earlier what the hell that was, that is, after I was done being distracted by the bold letters of 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' plaguing my forehead, until Lauren looked with a magnifying glass and discovered it was your BLOODY SIGNATURE signed on my face as though my forehead and what you've done is a piece of ART AT A BLOODY GALLERY!"

I think I've made both of us dead with the volume of my voice. He winces, "I knew the signature was too much…"

"Tell me how to get it off!" I shake him by the collar.

"Alright, alright! Keep your devil horns on—sorry, did I say devil horns? I meant _HAIR_—_aaaaaaaaaugh_!" He chokes out a cough, inhaling and exhaling proving to be difficult with my tight grip around his neck. "Don't overreact now-" I'm predicting I'm going to overreact "-but the spell doesn't wear off until morning."

I drop him to the floor in horror. Those were not the words I wanted to hear.

"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" I roll up the sleeves of my robe and get out my wand. He looks up at me with frightened eyes. "Say your prayers."

And then I can imagine that in Sirius' world, everything turns black.

**James**

After a brief trip to the Kitchens, I step into the portrait hole of the Head Tower and discover Sirius sitting inside, his face covered by a book. I'm always annoyed to find him here because he leaves his Dog Smell all over the place (it whiffs of grass, feet, and someone's back end – not that I've been sniffing any, but one can only assume it's unpleasant) and Lily blames it on me. Also, it's not fun to boast about something to him when he actually has access to it. How he finds out the password I really don't know – I imagine I slip it out when I'm drunk. A drunken Potter is a dangerous thing.

"Hey Prongs." He uses one of his hands to briefly wave in my direction from behind his apparently engaging reading material.

"Hey Padfoot. Moony's not here so you don't have to disguise your pornographic magazines as actual deep reading substance." I smile at my use of wit.

"Actually, I'm reading that book you handed me earlier."

I frown at such a response. He's used words I've never heard him say before, the most obvious one: _reading_. Moving closer, I discover Sirius is reading _James and his giant penis_—

Oh my giddy aunt Sponge, how many times am I going to keep getting that title wrong? Good grief, Potter!

… As I was saying, Sirius is reading James and…the…giant peach, and I suddenly feel mighty proud of myself. I, James Potter, gave Sirius Black a book, and now he is reading! Next I could eliminate world hunger! And…and give Snape a makeover—no, wait, I was a little too ambitious just then, I apologize.

"This book is like a life story on you James!" Sirius insists.

"It is?" I reply uncertainly. I don't remember flying on peaches to New York recently. I don't even know where New York is on a map.

"Definitely!" Sirius confirms. He's using that taking-the-mickey tone. I mentally prepare myself. "I mean, this boy James is seven, you _act_ and have the _brain capacity_ of a child of seven—"

"Arseface."

He suddenly lowers the book from his face and into his lap, and I actually let out a little scream at his manifestation.

"Explanation to what the hell is on your forehead, please," I order with bulging eyes. "_Now_."

He throws me one of the most frightening glares I've ever seen. "I decided to come out," he says sarcastically, then pulls a face at me. "Lily found me, stupid."

He's the last person in the room to call me stupid. "I don't believe we've ever kissed."

"Neither do I. Lily apparently enjoys the idea of me looking homosexual," he replies unsavourily.

I gaze at the fresh and rather unattractive 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' tattoo marking his forehead. I'm guessing after Lily found Sirius and discovered it was an annoying wait-until-the-morning-to-wear-off-harhar spells, having the exact same spell on Sirius would be fitting revenge. However, the bold black letters that decorate Sirius' forehead have glitter and sparkles, a nice girly touch by the redhead. I prefer the tattoo on Lily rather than Sirius for obvious reasons.

"I'd be quite amused right now," I mention, "if it, you know, DIDN'T INVOLVE ME." Why is everyone saying they kissed me on their foreheads? Is this some sort of peculiar trend I've never come across?

I sigh dejectedly at the idea that the entire castle thinks Sirius and I are lovers, and decide to cheer myself by playing with the sparkles that seem to be floating off Sirius' head now. I catch one in my hand and eat it. Sparkles kind of taste like chicken.

"Kind of taste like chicken, don't they?" Sirius reads my mind. I nod, trying to grab for another drifting piece of glitter. "Don't eat too much; you'll get a stomach ache."

"You're not my mum," I stick my tongue out at him, then grab for another chicken sparkle. "I'm old enough to eat as much sparkles as I bloody well please…and I never imagined I would ever say that sentence, _ever_." I end on a peculiar frown. I spot something out of the corner of my eye. "The fire's dying out a bit," I point to the fireplace, shivering a little.

"Oh," Sirius replies, untroubled. To my utter horror, he takes _James and the Giant Peach_ and tosses it into the fire to keep it alive. I immediately stand up in mortification.

"That book was _Moony's_," I hiss at him. Burning a book belonging to Remus Lupin results in only one thing: certain death.

Sirius quickly leaps out of his chair in terror. Looking panicked, he whispers, "If anybody asks, Frank Longbottom did it."

"Sure." I pat him on the back and wave him goodnight. Sleep that night is unusually settling and easy to slip into. It always happens after I kiss _her_.

**Next day…**

Day six of the bet, and at the breakfast table, that forehead of Sirius that is emitting sparkles seems to have attracted quite a crowd. There have been queues lining up to see him, or just eat one of his sparkles that by popular majority really taste like chicken.

"I still think they taste like pork," Peter says stubbornly.

"Anyway," Sirius changes the subject (though not really) by proving it is possible to fit an entire muffin in your mouth at once. "Evans' revenge has backfired on her because I could make a big profit off of this," he points at his 'I KISSED JAMES POTTER' forehead. Speaking of Lily, I search and spot her eating with a nice clean forehead you could eat food off. In fact, I'd like to eat pancakes off her beautiful forehead—

"Are you from another planet?" Remus asks me with a frown. "What kind of lunatic wants to eat pancakes off the forehead of the person they fancy?"

…I really have to stop saying my abnormal fantasies out loud.

"Hey James, I heard you've been reading lately," Peter brings up. "How's that going?"

An image of Remus' book burnt to ashes flashes in my mind.

"It's been…difficult," I reply awkwardly. Remus knows something has happened, I can tell by his eyes. "You see, me and the book didn't really have much time to…._bond_, I suppose—"

"What did you do to the book, James?" Remus leans forward with dangerous, slit eyes. _He knows everything. _

"_I_ didn't do anything!" I quickly defend myself. "I'll tell you who's bloody responsible though." I look at Sirius and I'm about to tattle on him like the Marauder I am when Sirius jumps in with:

"Frank Longbottom!"

"What?" Remus and I chorus.

"It was Frank Longbottom!" Sirius recurs, banging his spoon on the table. "Frank burnt your book!"

Remus looks deeply upset. "But…why would Frank burn my book?"

Sirius forces a laugh as he tries to think of a reasonable excuse. "Issues. He's got issues," he says vaguely. "Some sort of…er…incident that happened when he was younger. I think it was in a library, er…one of the bookshelves fell and he was flattened by books, you know?" He says this as though Remus has personally experienced being flatted by books – him being a slight bookworm, and all.

"Now he's hated literature ever since," Sirius continues. "When he saw the book he just flipped out and tossed it into the common room fire." After that particular hooey, he folds his arms and tries to keep a straight face. "Don't tell Frank though, he doesn't like to talk about it."

Predictably, Remus hasn't believed a word he's said. "Sirius," he sighs, "if you think I'm going to even consider believing the rubbish you've said, you've got another thing coming—"

"I HATE YOU!" another voice interrupts. The Marauders and I look left to find Frank has arrived in the Great hall and is now repeatedly hitting a book on the table, a book that is now covered in bits of breakfast like bacon and cereal. "I HATE YOU!" he yells at the book again.

"Frank!" I call his name and he stops bashing the book now covered in milk. "Is everything alright?"

He turns pink in the cheeks when he answers quietly, "Sorry, I'm just struggling with this Transfiguration essay."

I slowly nod in response. He says goodbye and we watch him slink away.

"See!" Sirius says once he's gone, smug.

"That was merely a coincidence and you know it," Remus grumbles. "Anyway," he turns his attention back on to me, "if you want another copy of James and the Giant Peach all you have to do is ask, James."

I shoot him an empty stare. "That book gave me nightmares, Moony. All I could think about was flying peaches trying to kill me, or drowning in peach sorbet."

"You're not supposed to take it seriously, James!"

I scowl, "Well, _now_ you tell me that!"

"Alright, I apologize," Remus says steadily. "I realize you don't have much experience with books and perhaps giving you one that involves flying peaches wasn't the best idea."

"Really, really not a good idea," Peter adds. I will note that remark of yours down, Pettigrew.

Remus continues, "I think I have another book by Roald Dahl you might be interested in—"

"NO WAY!" I freak out. "That guy is a loony!"

"Okay, another author, then."

"No." I put my hands up to signal to him to stop. "I'm sick of books, Moony. They drive me up the bend. If you've got a suggestion other than reading, by all means, do tell. If not, it's probably best you scamper."

"I'll be in the library." Remus pats me on the shoulder before getting up to leave.

I turn to Peter who looks enthusiastic to bring up something knitting-related. "You best go with him, Knitting Boy," I break the bad news. He nods solemnly before following after Remus.

There's only one left to ask advice from.

Wish me luck.

"Padfoot," I start carefully, "you're my only hope."

Sirius looks like a scandalised housewife all of a sudden. "I don't think I want to help you," he announces, snubbing me. "You asked me LAST out of all the Marauders and I'm supposed to be your favourite."

"I'm sorry, alright?" I hope that justifies as a good enough apology. "Just give me some of your Black wisdom now. What hobby do you suggest to get my mind off Quidditch?"

I'm expecting a good answer. Sirius is a great bloke; he knows how to have fun. He's like a brother to me. I don't know why I didn't go to him in the first place!

"Well…I don't have many hobbies really—"

Oh. That's why.

"YOU'RE A GREAT HELP, TOSSER."

"I'm not finished, you twonk," Sirius snaps at me. "I suggest…er…What do I like…._ooo_!" He cuts off excitedly, "How about Quidditch? Oh, wait—"

"ARE YOU SOME KIND OF IDIOT?" I yell.

"Sorry, I forgot you're not allowed to do that," Sirius cringes. He strokes his chin thoughtfully again. "What do I do besides Quidditch…I eat. Why not eat? Or sleep. Eat and sleep, not at the same time obviously." He laughs. I don't. "Or…I dunno, flirt? Flirting always passes the time. You could prank Snivellus but Evans doesn't like it when you do that. Did I say eat or sleep already?

"Yes." You moron.

"Oh, right…Oh, you could always eat or sleep—"

"You've said that three sodding times already," I point out.

"Oh, have I? How about eating—KIDDING, HARHAR. No… um…Wait, we should have an emergency trip to Hogsmeade!" he proposes gleefully.

My eyes turn wide, "No way."

"Why not?"

"Last time I went with you I was handcuffed to a bench."

"What's wrong with that?"

"You stole my clothes and left me naked. Professor McGonagall was the first to find me. Luckily my…_bits_, were covered by a birthday hat."

"HARHARHAR, good times," Sirius remarks. I shake my head at him. "Don't worry Prongs," he hooks an arm round my shoulder, "we'll have a nice, clean Hogsmeade trip and I promise I'll look after you."

I have a bad feeling he's going to get me inebriated but I'm too melancholy to care at the moment.

**Lily**

I haven't seen James all day and it's beginning to worry me. Eavesdropping earlier (I don't feel guilty at all), I heard that Sirius and James (well, mostly Sirius, and James being roped along) were planning to go on a Hogsmeade trip somehow. I've had bad vibes ever since this morning.

I tried to have a nice, relaxing day with Carly and Lauren, but I seemed to find all my reflection on James, and him only. The amount of times I'd thought I hated his presence around me, yet now that he's not here, it feels wrong. Being around him just…makes sense.

Now it's dark, late, when I sit alone in the Head Tower common room, and I realize that I must have been sitting here for ages because I sat down when the sun was out and beaming, and now there's only the moon, this chair, a cold cup of tea and me waiting for him to _come back_. I feel like I'm a sort of waiting _housewife_ of a husband that's gone off to _war_, and it's completely absurd!

Aimlessly, I wonder if I'll ever feel like this again in the future, because there's a rising war with Voldermort (I will never call him by 'Lord'). I hope I won't ever get that desperate, uncertain feeling of wanting your loved one home because he's out there fighting the Bad Side. I hope that _he_ in danger will never be James.

"You need sleep," I tell myself. "You're waiting up for a boy that gets headaches undertaking _crosswords_, and you need sleep."

I leave my tea for the house-elves to clean up (though I can't say I'm happy with that system, but there are no rubbish bins whatsoever in this castle!) and make my way to my dormitory, but I hear a crash behind me and quickly turn around. I immediately spot something that's fallen through the portrait hole: James. I quickly run over to him.

"Are you alright?" I ask him, because that's, by law, what you have to say after someone's fallen. I pull on his arm as he lies on his front, wondering why he hasn't moved or tried to get up yet. "James!"

Then he moves his head and I finally see his face, and that kind of overfriendly smile that belongs on a person when they're in a particular pickle.

A drunken pickle.

**James **

So…I'm kind of tipsy right now.

…

Am I thinking right now? I mean, right this second? Are these my thoughts? Or am I talking to somebody? Who are you?

Something's touching my leg. _Something is touching my leg_—wait, that's my trouser leg.

…Have I always worn glasses?

"Prongs, I've said the password and I'm dropping you off at your Head Tower, alright? I'm trying to avoid a bollocking by Lily, so you're on your own from here."

Who's that? Is that Sirius? I love Sirius.

"See you later, mate." Pat on shoulder. Feels familiar.

"MATE," I reply. "MATE."

Ooo, a portrait! A hole! A hole to another dimension, maybe? Onward!

Wait, WAIT! Falling! FALLING! Ow, gravity. I hate gravity. I love Sirius.

"Are you alright?" Girl's voice. Lily's. Familiar. "James!" That's my name.

Smiling. Smiling makes the world turn round, makes the world a brighter place. Smile and the world smiles back at you – I read that…somewhere—Christmas cracker or a drink coaster, maybe. I love Christmas.

"MATE."

"_What_? I will let your _mating_ order go since you are clearly drunk, James."

"I'm sipty." No, that's not the word. "Sipty." Nope, you just repeated the same incorrect word. "Sipty." Just give it up, Potter.

"I think you should just get some sleep." Touch on arm. Soft. Guiding me. Feels familiar. Her hair is like the colour of flames but doesn't burn your fingers when you stroke it. Her hair is the nice kind of flames, the flames that don't get you hurt. Love should be like that. I love love.

"James, stop it." I want to keep stroking the fire but she stops me. Hand moves to the tip of her chin. Familiar lips. She pushes me away. "Please, stop it. You're seriously drunk."

"Tipsy." I got the word right that time. "I love you."

"It's the drink talking, James."

Perhaps. "I love Christmas. I love Sirius."

"There you go."

"I love love."

"Don't we all?" Her hand. Pulling, guiding me again. "Let's get you to your dorm."

Another room. Lying down now. Eyes closed. Everything black like soot in the eyes. Soft bed sheets, something under my head, a pillow. Feels like resting on a large marshmallow. I love marshmallows.

"Mate?"

"In your dreams, James." Touch on my head. Patting of my hair. She has rounded fingernails that aren't sharp, like they're meant for stroking. Stroking only my head.

"Sir!" Another voice. Go away. She won't share the stroking. "Captain, it's me!" Captain. I'm Captain. Captain of something.

"Matthew, this isn't a good time." Lily's voice again, annoyed. "He's not in a good state at the moment. Come see him tomorrow."

"But it's urgent!" Voice, full of urgency, familiar. Pulling at my arm, shaking me. "Captain! Captain, I've got terrible news!"

"What're you…what're you talking about?" I thrust him off. "Who are you?"

"It's Matthew, sir! I've got to tell you something, sir! It's about the Quidditch match next week, sir!"

Bloke says 'sir' a lot. Am I a deity?

"Quidditch?" My eyes. Narrowing. "What is this Quidditch you speak of?"

"Matthew, it's pointless. He's drunk and doesn't understand you."

"But, captain, sir, we're in so much trouble!" Bloke is crying. Blokes aren't programmed to cry. "The Quidditch match next week, sir, it's been moved forward!"

"Forward?" Lily's voice, surprised. "So when is it?"

"It's…captain, it's _tomorrow_!"

Lily's mouth opens wide, so much I could probably put my whole fist in it. I try. She stops me.

"All I can say right now, Martin—"

"It's Matthew, sir."

"Whatever. All I can say is that I don't understand a word you're saying right now, but I'll probably be very, very, very, very hysterical about it tomorrow. Nighty night."

I drift off to sleep. Sleep is like being awake, but with your eyes closed. I love sleep.

**A/n:** Just to clarify that this is Day Six of the bet, Day Seven (Sunday) is next chapter. Problem: there is a Quidditch match on James' last day of the bet when he cannot play Quidditch. Uh oh.


	12. DUN DUN DUN

**A/n:** May I apologize for the mental chapter title? It's hard to come up with them. And, as always, thanks to my beta Anna, especially helping with this chapter! Only one chapter to go, I think. Merry Christmas everyone!

**Chapter 12**

You know what's worse than waking up with a giant headache?

Waking up with a giant headache and not knowing _what the heck happened last night._

I'm sure it'll come to me…

Anytime now.

…

Oh for Merlin's sake, I might as well do something active while my brain catches up with last night's affairs.

Assessing my whereabouts, it appears as though I'm thankfully in my room—_oh no_, please let the other side of my bed be empty. _Emptiness, please._

My hand moves to the other side of the bed, fingers groping mattress—a mattress! Not a bottom! Definitely a mattress! I sigh in relief.

…Why is there a sickle stuck to my thigh? What the bloody hell!

There are socks on my hands! I demand to know who put them there! Did I put them there? Did someone last night put them there? And why am I wearing only one shoe?

…_Where is my underwear?_

This is incredibly bizarre.

What day is it today? I swear today, this day of inconceivable head pain, is something quite important. Is it someone's birthday? Should I have climbed in a cake and jumped out of it for McGonagall again? (It wasn't her birthday that day – I just thought it'd be a laugh).

Do I have class now? No, wait, it's Sunday, isn't it… Oh my goodness, it's _Sunday!_ The day of rest!

No, wait, there's something else significant about this day… My mother is sending me new underwear by owl! (That would explain the lack of undergarments at the moment… I should really put something on).

No! Wait! There's something else, I'm sure there is! It's the last of something, the final day of the—_oh my giddy aunt Sponge_, I'm going to _kill_ Sirius! Last night is coming back to me at full pelt – Sirius got me smashed! He got me smashed when I didn't want to get smashed and I'm going to tell Remus and Sirius will be in troubleand I shall laugh and laugh like my life depends on laughing and laughing only at Sirius and I shall be titled the Sirius Laugher, not to be confused with Serious Laugher in Ravenclaw whose real name is Jack who inappropriately laughs at serious things. He's only twelve and already owns a moustache.

A loud groan escapes me as moments of last night's escapades emerge from skulking at the back of my mind - whoever decided putting pubs in a village so near a school filled with young people, young stupidly influenced people, is an idiot. Couldn't someone have put up a poster with a picture of my face followed by the words 'do not serve anything in liquid form to this bloke' so this wouldn't have happened?

My mind incessantly ploughs on trying to remember what ensued. I recall a lot of embarrassing dancing (truth be told, and truth be told with much reluctance, I'm not much of a mover on the dance floor – it's more notorious the murdering of dancing that takes place), singing (when did singing in tune become so popular? When I was little volume was more important), a soggy kiss on Madam Rosmerta's cheek (best not to tell Miss Evans about that) and sitting on someone's change (that explains the stuck sickle on my thigh… perhaps).

Oh dear… I have a feeling Lily probably saw me inebriated - now that was a side I did not desire her to witness. The want to apologize to her for my probably upsetting behaviour drives me to get out of bed, put on some clothes and get my behind to the Great Hall… and also the smell of scrambled eggs. At least, I hope that smell is coming from actual eggs.

It's when I'm strolling down the corridor and people start thumping me on the back that I begin to think there's definitely something I've neglected to remember. I retaliate by thumping them back – after all, you thump me and I'll thump you back harder, mate, yet the ones I strike back shoot me strange looks as they argue they were only wishing me good luck, and I think, scratching my head in perplexity, good luck for what exactly, you twonk?

And finally something clicks: it's Day Seven of the bet I made with Lily. It's ten in the morning, and there's only fourteen hours of no Quidditch left I have to endure until midnight and the bet is over, thus winning Lily's heart. Just fourteen hours until I call her my girl, accompanied by a head that is far, far from bald.

I admit this week has been _quite_ tricky without my beloved Quidditch…

Oh, who am I kidding here? It's been exceedingly difficult – ridiculous, even. I saw people, actual humans, resembling Quidditch brooms; along with that peculiar period of time I thought whoever was speaking to me was saying the word Quidditch instead of expected normal words you'd hear in conversation like _quite_. Come to think of it, I specifically remember trying to commit suicide on fifteen separate occasions. Oh yes, I almost succeeded when I stabbed myself in the eye with a quill, though earning that pirate eye patch in my recovery was worth that momentary pain.

I think this may have been the hardest week of my life. Supposedly, this week has made me aware of just how ridiculously obsessed with Quidditch I am, to the point of it being a hindrance to myself and others. I'm just so passionate about it, you know? It's not wrong to be passionate about something, is it? Unless it's illegal… but moving on. These past few days have taught me a valuable lesson in life: Quidditch isn't everything; it's only part of it. Quidditch is only that small slice of that big chocolate gateau you'll enjoy if you experience it moderately (I like making food analogies).

I used to have a dream to play Quidditch for England when I'm old, boring with responsibilities. The sport to me was something I felt I needed to do in order to survive; now I see it as more of a hobby. Now my vision for when I'm older is to fight—and I don't mean wrestle Sirius after he ate the last piece of trifle, but fight the bad, fight for all those things you only seem to read about in perfect fairytale endings, good and concord, because those finishes have to be based somewhere, right? Surely they once existed, and the Wizarding world needs them restored, sooner rather than later. _Now_ rather than sooner.

It's been a rough couple of days but finally I feel at ease, I feel confident, I feel this is the beginning of something! I think…. Yes, I do believe James Potter is having his first epiphany. I can't wait to boast about this to Sirius. I bet he's never had one. Where's my camera? I need a record of my epiphany face…

**Lily**

Breakfast isn't normally a time when you should fear your life, but, lucky me, I happen to be experiencing it as such, as (annoyingly) always.

The hall is awash with Gryffindors left, right and centre, forming glares at me left, right and bloody centre. The reason for their defiant stares is because the momentous Quidditch match against Slytherin the school had anticipated being next week has been rearranged to _today_. I can still picture Matthew in James' room announcing the news to us, and then James creeping his hand into my absurdly open mouth like the drunken little git he was. Everyone knows about the bet and _everyone_ knows James Potter can't play if he keeps to the wager and it'll be my fault if we lose.

It's not to say Gryffindor can't win without James – there is a possibility. But from what I've heard from Carly and Lauren, the Slytherins have been practising, practising to the point of not even needing practice but doing it to simply _pass the time_, and that's a level that sounds terrifyingly bloodthirsty.

My brow sweats with unease as I dare not to look up into my fellow housemates' eyes. My mission is to eat my porridge as fast as possible and escape somewhere safe, somewhere with rounded edges.

"Hey, Evans."

Thinking it's James I don't look up, until a hand squeezes my shoulder so hard I feel it sting and look up with a scowl on my face: it's Lucas, Captain and Chaser of the Slytherin team with the usual snooty look upon his face. His countenance is as though Slytherin has already won the match, or indisputably will win - the match pointless, if only to embarrass Gryffindor for entertainment.

He crouches down to speak close and low in my ear, "You did us a big favour, Evans."

"Did I now," I reply coldly. My attention is brought on the nearest table of Slytherins shooting grins at me and a twinge of guilt crams my stomach as I look at the floor. I don't feel worthy of wearing Gryffindor colours today.

Lucas continues, "Not that we can only beat your house without Potter playing. We'll win whether he's present or not. You've just given us a great advantage." His hand slides to the nape of my neck, slowly making its way down my back, and my head snaps to glower at him as I demand with my eyes what the hell he's doing. "Pat yourself on the back, Evans, or shall I?"

"Get your hand off of me." I seize his wrist hard and thrust it away. He staggers a little and cracks an odd smile of amusement at my actions.

"Well, anyway." He makes his way to leave, to my outmost pleasure. "Thanks again."

"I didn't know this would happen," I defend myself in a hiss. "I wouldn't do anything to intentionally help your team. Whatever I've done that's supported you is merely bad luck on my part."

Lucas looks amused no longer. "Nonetheless," his voices come out curt, "we thank you again." He makes a little bow before smiling snidely at me. "Consider yourself one of us."

After those words, I can't help but stare at him as he makes the journey back to his team, each member displaying an over-confident look in their eyes. The colours green and silver torment me from afar. When I look at the reflection of my spoon I only see the mirror image of my green eyes and feel violently sick. Slytherin, I am most certainly not.

"Where's James?"

I look up at Sirius, his forehead clean of the revenge tattoo I cursed upon him that must have worn off this morning. Dressed in his Quidditch uniform and broom in one hand, his hair is strangely a mess and he shows a look of agitation, much like mine.

"I think he's still asleep."

"Why didn't you wake him up?" he demands.

"I'm not his maid!" I snap. "Are you forgetting the fact that you are the culprit of getting him completely sloshed last night, you senseless prat?"

"Are _you_ forgetting the fact that our team is completely screwed?"

I let out a weary sigh. "It's just a game…"

"No, it's not," he shakes his head resolutely. "It was at first, I admit it, but it's not now, not when it's the final of the Cup. Because now it's not just a silly pastime on brooms - who can get that round thing into that round hoop. You know what it is now, Lily?"

Silently, I shake my head.

"It's a battle of pride."

"Pride?" I repeat ludicrously.

"You know, that stubborn little thing that crops up now and then – especially in you, Lily, I've noticed. It keeps you from doing the right thing sometimes… You're not human without it." I watch him closely as he eyes the Slytherin team with a fierce stare. "That's what it is today, Lily, a battle of pride, because Merlin damn they will not take it away from us."

His fist clenches tightly around the handle of his broom. What he's said sounds so chillingly like war.

"What are you going to do if James doesn't play?" I can't help but ask. He erupts into laughter and I ask him what's so funny.

"Of course he won't play," he scoffs at me. "He's so bloody in love with you it's sickening."

I avoid his eyes and blush at his statement… not that I believe him!

"Liar," I say.

"Is what you are," Sirius continues, "when you claim to say he doesn't."

I make no comment and hope my silence illustrates my mood of discomfort on this subject.

"Really though, we'll figure something out," Sirius adds comfortingly.

He glances over his shoulder, noticing Matthew bursting into tears as the rest of the Gryffindor team is trying to console him with awkward pats on his somehow soggy tear-covered back (tears spread like a skin rash with that bloke). "Better get back to the team," he mentions as he makes his way back over to them.

"Sirius!" I call his name just as he's far enough to just about hear me.

"What, Head Girl?"

What I say comes out on the verge of plea. "Please win… I don't think I… or James, could bear it if you didn't."

He wears a look that says, _neither could I_. "Just you wait and see, Lily. That Cup will be gleaming in my hands."

**James**

You know what's worse than walking into a place with a giant headache?

Walking into a place with a giant headache and not knowing _what the heck is going on_.

Have you ever just entered a room and everyone's staring at you, and it's completely evident you haven't been let on about something? Well, I'm experiencing that right about now in the Great Hall... multiplied by a hundred squirms. Everyone's dressed like it's a, well, Quidditch match day. People in attractive scarves (attractive being _only_ the red and gold ones) and those really horrifyingly ugly banners (only the ones with the green and silver colour codes) and—oh, the Slytherin Quidditch team are all dressed in their, what I like to call, clown costumes. My team, of course, are dressed handsomely and—oh, they're striding towards me now.

I notice Lily amongst them and instantly forget the others. I seize her hand. "Lily, I—"

"I'm so sorry," she cuts in suddenly, her face sallow. I frown at her in confusion. "I had no idea this was going to happen."

"What do you mean?" I look at her strangely. My eyes instinctively move to Sirius. "What's going on?"

"I think you better sit down to hear this, mate," he tells me, patting my shoulder. At this, Matthew starts blubbering all of a sudden while Seeker Sara tries to hush him with a hug, though I know her true intentions are probably to suffocate him into her chest to make him quieten. I follow my team over to an empty seat where Remus and Peter are sitting, also decorated in Gryffindor spirit, though spirit far from the expressions upon their faces: discomfort. Ants-in-your-wizard-pants discomfort.

Despite the gloomy mood of the people of around me, I attempt to grab a plate of scrambled eggs to settle my stomach, but Peter stops me with a slap to the hand.

"Pettigrew! Explanation to why you just _bravely_ just did that before I kick you up the bottom!"

"Because," Sirius answers instead, "what I'm about to say next is going to make you sick."

I scowl at him. "Are you going to serenade me, by chance?" I endeavour at feasting upon the plate of scrambled eggs yet again when this time Remus decides to stops me.

"Listen to him, James," he warns me. "_Do not eat them_."

And that may have been his biggest mistake of the day because when I really think about it I'm not famished in the slightest. But since Moony has asserted the scrambled eggs as forbidden, I _must_ have them.

Pushing Remus' hand away, I slide the plate of eggs towards me and, without even grabbing a knife or fork, scoop a handful of the scrambled goodness messily into my mouth. "I'll eat as many scrambled eggs as I bloody well please," is what I want to say, but my mouth is overcrowded with eggs so I settle instead with, "Bleeeeuuuuurgh!" and a small amount of sneering.

"Prongs?" Sirius calls my name.

"What?" is, again, what I want to say, but much egg-overcrowding so I make do with, "Bleeeeuuuuurgh!" yet again.

"You know that match we're having with Slytherin next week?"

"Bleeeeuuuuurgh!"

"Yeah, well… it's today."

Prompt fainting occurs.

**Lily**

James is rather graceful when he faints, much like a woman. His hand actually rises to his forehead in that classic woozy fashion, and he falls much like a tree in a dense, overcrowded forest, if that tree wore glasses, had electrified hair and possessed a rather pert bottom.

The second he hits the floor, the team, Remus and Peter instantly crowd round his unconscious body, calling out his name in a flurry of panic.

"Sir! Sir, are you alright?"

"Prongs, you stupid twonk, _get up!_"

"Do you think he's dead?"

"Fingers crossed! Then I'll be the new Captain!"

"Oh shut up, Marlene!"

"Captain, can I have your broom if you're dead? Wait… would you even be able to answer that question—?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" I curse in irritation. Never have I seen a bigger bunch of useless individuals in my entire life. James has just fainted and one has declared him dead, another finds it appropriate to verbally abuse him while he's lifeless enough to not respond, two are bickering up about filling his Quidditch position, and then there's just Matthew blubbering all over the place.

"Out of the way!" I order as I push myself past the small crowd. "I, er, _vaguely_ remember taking first aid when I was younger… Let me pass!"

Sirius looks reluctant to move, apparent fun in name-calling the out cold James just too thrilling to bring to a halt, but I boot him in the back of the legs and that is the end of that matter. As this is a blatant warning to the others, they shuffle aside too. On the floor, I kneel beside James and take his face in my hands.

"Oi, James." I shake him a little as though he's a stuck can in a vending machine, which is a bit too much vigour when I think about it. "James? James, can you hear me?"

Nil response.

I see I'm going to have to put my exemplary first aid skills to work now. It cannot be helped. I stand to my feet.

"What are you doing now?" asks Peter timidly.

"A little trick I learnt in first aid," I reply as I dust my hands. "Just watch and learn."

"What are you doing with your foot?" Sara asks, noticing it's been raised.

"Oh, it's a tricky procedure, my dear. It's all about getting your foot in the right place; I will be dropping it right about…" My foot hovers over James' body until settling on the spot over his crotch area. "Oh, there will be fine." My foot slams down and hell breaks loose as a James emits a tender scream. Unconscious he is no longer.

"Erm... did whoever was teaching you first aid happen to be a man-hater?" another member of the Quidditch team, Dominic, asks with a look of horror. I shrug nonchalantly. We watch James writhe about the floor in pain for a short moment.

"Little Harry will never be conceived after this," I hear James hiss in between short, excruciating breaths.

Harry who now? "What did you just say?"

"Nothing!"

"James," Sirius turns back to the matter at hand. "Please tell me you heard what I said."

"Yeah… yeah, I did," he answers gruffly, his tone dejected beyond words. He looks wretchedly at his team. "I can't understand how this happened."

"We don't know either, sir," Matthew says, just as miserably. "We went to see McGonagall, sir. Asked why the date had been pushed forward, tried to persuade her to change it back."

"But she said she had no control over the match dates," Sara takes up next. "Apparently Dumbledore sets them and he pushed it forward."

I wonder if Dumbledore knew about the bet…. I wouldn't put it past him. The timing of this match is truly too inauspicious.

Dominic speaks next. "We even went to the old kook and had a go at making him put the date back to next week, but he wouldn't budge." After looking sad for an impressive while, he suddenly turns overjoyed as he pops a sweet in his mouth and sucks on it. "Worth the trip, though – got a handful of some gorgeous lemon drops—"

He earns a smack off Marlene. "_Hush_."

We watch James as he remains sitting, staring at the floor hard as though it has personally wronged him. I hate to see him like this, so… _quiet_.

"James, I'm sorry," I start again.

"Don't worry about it, Lily." Thankfully, he takes his gaze off the floor and onto me, a look of understanding on his features. "You weren't to know."

Though I wish I had.

Finally, he gets up and addresses his team as a true Captain taking charge. "Alright guys, this is just a minor setback. We're prepared for this. Where's the substitute, Gregory…is that his name? He'll be glad to finally get a game."

It takes a lot of courage for Matthew to reply, "He's ill, sir."

"_What_?" James' voice comes out as a terrified whisper. After looking at the rest of his team who nod in confirmation of Gregory's poorly condition, he frantically runs a hand through his hair. He looked almost confident before in the knowledge that this reserve Gregory would fill in for him, but knowing now he can't he looks hopeless.

"We're buggered," he tells the team. "_Merlin_, we're buggered!"

"Prongs, calm down—"

"We've got no substitute Chaser, Sirius!" James resorts to shouting. "There isn't enough for a full team! Gryffindor can't play!"

"Prongs," Sirius repeats steadily. "_Calm down_. We've got another substitute for you."

Another substitute? James and I perk.

"Who?" he questions.

The team parts like the Red Sea as they reveal the secret substitute from behind them. After they finish separating I notice Frank Longbottom with a giant smile on his face. Standing on my tiptoes, I try to look around Frank who must be blocking the secret substitute. James, I see, has the same idea as he attempts to peep round him.

"Could you move out of the way, mate, please?" he asks Frank politely. "You're blocking the sub Chaser." Though, this sub Chaser must be incredibly short or good at hiding to conceal himself behind Frank so magnificently…

"Prongs, Frank is the sub Chaser."

Prompt fainting occurs.

**James**

You know what's worse than waking up with a giant headache?

Waking up with a giant headache and Frank Longbottom hovering over your face with eyes that look like they should belong on a rather perplexed owl.

It's not that I don't like Frank – far from it, he's a friendly bloke. But when he's so close to my face that, given the opportunity, or an unfortunate stumble, he could accidentally _kiss me_, I'm rather terrified. Luckily I'm safe as Remus helps me stand again. Frank smiles rather fondly at me but all I can do is send a panic-stricken look at Sirius.

"This is a joke," I state uneasily. "Right?"

"What are you talking about? Frank is a great Quidditch player!" Sirius pats Frank sturdily on the shoulder as though to demonstrate the strength within him.

"I didn't even know you knew how to play Quidditch," Lily brings up a valid point.

"Of course I do!" insists Frank. My initial negativity to him replacing me deteriorates slightly. "Well… at least not since half an hour ago. Dominic taught me the basic rules."

"WHAT?"

"Don't worry; I'm a quick learner, James!"

"Holy mother of Merlin…"

I start hyperventilating. This has to be some sort of sick prank, surely!

"Let me try and get my head around this," I say as I settle into a seat, abruptly feeling faint again. "Until half an hour ago, Frank, you had no knowledge of how to play Quidditch."

Silently, Frank nods. I shake a little.

"Therefore Dominic educated the rules to you, someone I deem as permanently smashed-"

"I resent that!" he butts in.

"You're holding a flask of Firewhiskey, moron," Marlene points out.

"It's to calm my pre-match nerves! _Honestly_." He takes another swig of his drink. I'm too overwhelmed by everything to scold him.

"Frank, have you even ridden a broom before?" I ask, hoping the answer is far away from no as possible.

"Once in first year." I emit a groan. "Oh, and I had a bit of pracise earlier on Dominic's for a few minutes. Didn't even bash into a tree!" he announces proudly. "Can you believe it?"

"I think I'm going to faint again," I proclaim.

"Don't you even think about it," Lily warns me, gesturing to her foot and pointing to my crotch warningly.

I notice the Great Hall becoming steadily barer as students file out, their next destination almost certainly the grounds following to the Quidditch pitch.

"We better get going," Marlene says as she glances at her watch. "It's time. The match is about to start."

I watch my team depart, brooms over their shoulders and unwavering looks in their shiny eyes of sanguinity. And I'm forgotten as I don't even receive a glance back, and I feel so left out, so left out of the thing I should _so_ be _in_, because a team never plays without their Captain. _Never_. Yet there they go.

I notice Frank stalling behind. Suddenly he looks nervous - he'd expected more time to prepare himself, I can tell.

"Just… do your best, Frank." I wish I could give him better advice.

"But what if my best isn't good enough?"

I don't know what to say, I'm stumbled by his question. He has those perplexed owl eyes again.

"Come on, Frank!" Dominic yells up ahead. Frank gives me a last lingering stare before jogging to catch up with the rest.

When the Great Hall is empty, floating candles left to shine upon no-one, I'm still there, prolonging to move.

"Let's go, James," Remus says. Sighing, I do as he says.

"Wait a second, James," Lily interjects. "I'm not sure if you watching this match follows the bet rules."

"When you explained them to me you said playing Quidditch or touching anything Quidditch related was barred, nothing about _watching_," I point out.

"He's right, Lily," Remus backs me up. "I remember - I was there."

She looks dissatisfied.

"Lily, _please_, I need to be there."

I stare at her fixedly until she gives in with a sigh. "Alright," she says quietly. "Let's go."

Well, this may be the first time I've ever witnessed Gryffindor playing a match without me in it.

This'll certainly be a new experience.

**Lily**

James, Remus, Peter and I nab the top row of the Quidditch stands, though I don't think it's entirely safe for me to be up here so easily exposed to immediate death below. Sadly, my fellow housemates have not changed their minds about whose fault it is that James Potter isn't playing today, they are even more disgruntled at the fact that an inexperienced individual is taking his place.

"We've certainly got an interesting match today, folks!" Danny of Ravenclaw commentates to the rest of the school. "This game determines who exactly will win the Cup this year, and what two better houses to play than the rivals of Gryffindor and Slytherin. You've got to love the house tension there.

"Both houses are just aching to prevail! Oh, this match is going to be a good one! After Gryffindor and Slytherin's poor performances last year, and Hufflepuff can vouch for that-" the stands filled with Hufflepuffs shout approval on account of their impressive win of the cup last year "-both houses have been practising like mad to make up for it."

As both teams gather on the ground, dots of scarlet against green, two figures approach one another accompanied by Madam Hooch, the Captains to shake hands, it's Sirius who must shake Lucas' hand today, a deed he doesn't look pleased doing. When the whistle blows fifteen brooms raise high and fast, the crowds exploding into excited, encouraging cheers.

"And they're off! Sirius Black of Gryffindor quickly takes possession of the Quaffle - now, you may have noticed Gryffindor's line-up is different today as Captain, James Potter, is unable to play."

James stiffens beside me. People turn in their seats to stare at him.

"But it seems as though Potter is of full health, so why exactly is he absent for today's very important match? Inside sources have told me he is involved in a certain bet with Lily Evans-" I blush at the mentioning of my name "-also of Gryffindor—"

"THOMPSON! Enough gossip! Get back to the match!" McGonagall interrupts him. I silently thank her.

"Gryffindor still in possession of the Quaffle, that's Marlene Mannings there, she passes to – oh, the substitute for James Potter today, _Frank Longbottom_, a surprising reserve, _very _surprising indeed - interception by Lucas Foster, Slytherin Captain, nice dive round Black, fortunate miss of that Bludger sent by Alderson – Keeper Simmons dives – that's a miss - SLYTHERIN SCORE!"

Gryffindor's groans of disappointment are drowned out by the triumphant whooping by Slytherin.

"_Fuck_," James immediately curses, kicking the wall of the stand. Peter offers words of support while I look elsewhere, ill at ease sitting next to James when he's like this: angry and worked up. I pray the rest of the game looks up…

"Gryffindor in possession of the Quaffle, Mannings to Black, Black back to Mannings and – OH, that looked like a nasty hit to Mannings there by Glyn's Bludger. She looks fine, though - she's a tough girl, that one. Slytherin have the Quaffle again, Foster's really pushing that broom to its limits, lunges past Longbottom – Taylor looks open but Foster clearly isn't sharing the Quaffle today and – OH, Foster is hit by a Bludger! Very nice revenge play by Dominic Alderson there. I can confirm there is a lot of bleeding—"

"Too much information, Thompson!" McGonagall butts in.

For the next hour watching the match is rather agonizing. Frank plays well, astonishingly well, but not James Potter-well. The heavy amount of practising Slytherin have done is evident in the amount of points they score: one hundred and twenty to Gryffindor's fifty, each point followed by James cursing foul and wildly afterwards. Sirius loses his temper on a number of occasions, one time resulting in his broom nearly being flung at Lucas' head. Slytherins play dirty, but less dirty than usual, just the mild kind.

"And Slytherin scores again!"

I have to stop James from flinging himself off the stand. "_Fuck!_" he yells again.

I sigh wearily. "Must you say that every time they score?"

"You took Quidditch away from me, Lily; I refuse to let you take my cursing, too." I watch him squeeze the wall of the stands until his hands turn white, his eyes dodging about the pitch. "Defend, Alderson, DEFEND! SIRIUS! How could you bloody let that Quaffle pass? Chase him, Mannings, CHASE HIM!"

"Prongs, calm down—"

"I will not calm down, Moony!" He returns to shouting at the pitch, bursting everyone's ear drums in the process. "Oh, _come on_, that was a foul!" He throws up his hands in anger.

I can't help but ask him a question that's been prodding at me the entire time I've watched him in his hostile state. "Why does this game matter so much to you?"

He takes his eyes off the game to look at me strangely. "It's not just a game, Lily; it's a battle of—"

"Pride," I finish his sentence with a sigh. "Yes, I know, Sirius gave me that speech already…" Sulking a little, I fold my arms. I'm startled when James sits down for a moment, forgetting the game and focusing only on me.

"I don't expect you to understand, Lily."

"Explain it _better_, then."

He smirks a little at my response, and then turns grave. "I wanted to go out with a bang, you know? Leave Hogwarts winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor… Merlin knows I let our house down last year."

He says this as though he's the only individual to blame. I have a dreadful feeling that when his team loses he will punish himself.

"Just because you're the Captain it doesn't mean it's your fault if you don't win every game," I point out plainly. Sadly enough, James doesn't look convinced.

"This match is important not just to me but to everyone, Lily. And the Gryffindors don't just want to win to wipe those toffee-nosed looks off those Slytherin faces—though that is a main part of it—but to make our house _happy_, put a rare smile on those who've suffered Merlin knows what they should _never_ have because of this bloody stupid war with Voldermort. Hell, it's the main reason why we play Quidditch these days, just to keep our minds off what's going on outside Hogwarts."

He has a habit of charming me with his monologues.

"I think I understand," I tell him with a small smile.

"Good," he nods, and returns to watching the game, but he's quieter. "God, I wish I was out there," he mutters, not being able to disguise the envy towards Sirius across his face.

I turn faintly sour at his utterance. "Why don't you just go out there, then?" I snap a little.

"Something's stopping me."

"_I'm_ definitely not stopping you," I defend myself. "Go out there if you please."

"Alright, the _bet_ is stopping me; however you want to say it."

"Yet another score by Slytherin!" interrupts Danny.

"F—" James stops, detecting my pointed look. "Fiddlesticks," he says instead. Embarrassed he has to resort to such a naff expletive, he puts his head in his hands, though I think this is done partly to show how much this match is killing him.

"We'll win." I seize his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "Sara will find the Snitch, I know she will! I've got a good feeling about it."

He's unresponsive for the moment, his head still cradled in his hands, not daring to look up. It's when he squeezes my hand back that I smile.

"OUCH – blimey, that _must_ have hurt!"

James looks up at once as we scan the pitch: our eyes lock onto Frank Longbottom, wavering on his broom as he clutches his arm in pain.

"Bludger straight to the arm there by Jenkins! Looks like Longbottom will need some help before he falls off his broom there!"

As Danny says, Frank's broom noticeably wobbles, especially in the fresh and windy air - the pain in his arm looks simply too unbearable. His howls of soreness echo throughout the pitch while the Gryffindors boo at the Slytherins and the Slytherins pull faces in return. At once, two teammates and Madam Hooch fly to his side, guide him to the ground and towards the direction of the changing rooms.

"Do you think he's okay?" I ask James but look to my side and find he's disappeared from sight; I spot him hurrying down the stairs of the stand, almost certainly on his way to see Frank.

I do hope Frank's okay, or a certain lady by the name of Alice Meads will be on James' case.

**James**

The worse has come to worst: Frank's hurt, hurt in the arm, hurt bad, hurt he can't play.

"I'm sorry, James," he manages to squeak out an apology in between painful pants of breath. I tell him it's alright as Madam Pomfrey steers him out of the changing rooms and they make their way to the Hospital wing. His arm looks twisted.

I feel accountable for his injury, but that dire pang at the bottom of my stomach is nothing compared to the new one it grows into when Madam Hooch enters the changing rooms. I know what's coming yet I'm still jittery.

"You have two minutes to find a replacement Chaser or you'll be forced to forfeit the game." She has a worried look upon her face herself. "I'll come back in when your time is up."

She leaves and the room stays silent for a moment, though we're wasting valuable seconds by being stunned. Marlene breaks the hush by hurling her broom at the wall in fury, nearly breaking it, and Dominic, rather sweetly for an alcoholic, advances towards her, but she pushes him away.

"We've lost it, we're going to have to forfeit," Sara sighs in defeat.

Sirius shrugs dejectedly. "It can't be helped, I suppose."

I can't believe they've given up so easily!

"No! No, we'll find another replacement—"

"There is no other replacement, Captain," Dominic cuts across me.

"But we can't lose like this!" I say. "We must lose _fighting_ not _forfeiting_!"

To aggravate the situation all the more, a furious McGonagall enters the changing rooms - she's sporting all the Gryffindor gear, incredibly keen, as every year, for her house to win the Quidditch cup.

"What is going on in here? Potter, why are you not playing?" she interrogates. I take it the bet didn't spread to the teachers…

"It's complicated, Professor."

All of a sudden if I listen really hard I can hear the houses in the stands outside shouting something, something short and repeated with rhythmic clapping and the type of whooping that makes your ears bleed.

"Do you hear that?" I ask.

"Potter, I highly think there are other matters at hand here to concentrate on," the professor rebukes me.

I send her an apologetic look but I can't help but move towards the door of the changing rooms and open it slightly. At once, the noise outside fills the room as though a thousand people are in here. What they're saying becomes clear as day…

"POT-TER! POT-TER! POT-TER! POT-TER!"

Their chanting gets quicker, so much my surname becomes unintelligible to understand, and I laugh a little.

"Aren't you the popular one, Prongs?" Sirius smirks at me. I can't deny it: hearing the call of my name with such energy and desperation is the best feeling in the world.

"Time's up." Madam Hooch has entered the room once more. It felt shorter than two minutes. "Do you have a replacement?"

The team looks at me, and it's not fair because I feel myself giving in amongst their glued stares. It's too hard to block out the cheering from outside; even if I shut the door, I can feel the mantra of my name reverberating inside my skull.

"Captain…"

"Matthew, no…"

"Captain, _please_."

We're interrupted by the creak of the door opening yet again - Lily, Remus and Peter enter, but Lily's really the one I'm looking at.

"Is Frank alright?" she asks me.

"Hospital wing. Can't play," I answer briefly.

"Potter," Madam Hooch prompts me for an answer.

"POT-TER! POT-TER! POT-TER!"

"Prongs, for Merlin's sake, make a bloody decision."

"_POT-TER! POT-TER! POT-TER!_"

"I will not ask again, Potter. Do you or do you not have a replacement?"

I rub my temples all the while the questions are fired._ Someone make it stop._

"Captain," Matthew's voice comes desperately again, and I feel compelled to shout at him to shut up while I think of a way to fix this mess, but I know deep down I could have a lifetime of thinking and there wouldn't be a simpler way to solve it. Giving in to Matthew, I finally look up and discover him holding out a Quidditch broom to me and unexpectedly everything seems so simple.

"Please play, sir."

My gaze moves onto Lily but I can't read her expression – she's waiting, everyone's waiting.

"Look's like Gryffindor is having problems!" Danny's voice echoes from the stands. "Frank Longbottom can no longer play and Gryffindor are missing a Chaser. James Potter has quite the dilemma on his hands. The question is what will he choose: the girl or the game?"

My hand creeps forward….


	13. So which goal is Gryffindor’s again?

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine. Boo hoo.

**A/N:** Last chapter, thank bloody Merlin! All I can do is apologize for how absurdly long this fic dragged on for. And also how crap(per) my writing was in the early chapters. It's been over a year since the first so hopefully my writing is at a better standard now. Thanks to all for the huge amount of reviews and sticking by this story amongst the mammoth procrastination of mine. And much thanks to Anna for beta reading. Have a nice day!

**Chapter 13**

**Lily**

James' fingers creep toward the handle of the broom, at this moment much like a cautious knight reaching for a dangerous sword, and I'm not entirely sure what I should be thinking. The person I was that claimed to hate James in fifth year is egging him on to take the broom, but did I ever hate him back then? I hated what he _did_, picking on the vulnerable, but then he stopped and concentrated on Quidditch. The person I am right now, the girl that gets flustered in his company and apparently sniffs his boxers for a living, is praying that he smacks Matthew's hand away so the broom is knocked aside, as though the sheer suggestion of playing makes him physically sick.

But his fingers are too close to the handle by now that the idea of him refusing to play is impossible. And as his eyes lock with mine and his hand edges forwards, I can feel any potential of me and James being together disappearing within the shouts of his name chanted from the Quidditch stands. It's a fight of who needs him more, and as much as I think I really need him (or want, or yearn), it's me against the school. There is more of them.

"I… can't do it."

The room falls into even tenser silence. I can't grasp what just happened until James reiterates, "I can't do it."

Somehow it's even more gruelling to take in his words when he's staring so hard at me (eyes are windows to the soul and my soul is plainly being ogled at). Though I was masking my face earlier to one of no emotion, so as not to influence his decision, I can't help my mouth parting a little in astonishment now. His hand -the one that was reaching for the broom- is now by his side, brushing slightly with his thigh. Matthew is still holding out the broom in case he changes his mind, but it seems clear he won't. I have to say something.

"Forget the bet, James." My voice comes out quiet yet surprisingly steadier than I imagined. Though the changing rooms are crowded with bodies, it seems like we're the only people in the room, illuminated by the spotlight, the only ones that matter right now. "I'll call the bet off," I continue. "I'll end it. Nobody wins or loses. Just play." I gesture to him to take the broom. I'm being fair to him - if it were any other bet with anyone else there would be no feasible way I'd end it, but it's him and he makes me do strange things. "The bet's off," I say, so it's more final and existent.

"No it's not," he says at once.

I blink. Why is he fighting this? "Take the broom, James," I order rather than propose.

"No," he says firmly. I'm suddenly reminded of all the times he asked me out and I turned him down. It's a peculiar sensation, being on the receiving end of a no.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes to everyone. Out of all the sentiments as possible he comes across as oddly embarrassed. "I've gotta get out of here," I hear him mutter.

Gaping slightly, I watch him leave the room. Remus calls out to him to wait but he's bluntly ignored - just another request that gets lost amongst the mantra of his surname from the pitch. Now that James isn't present to be gawked at, everyone stares at me instead, and the ground swallowing me up whole is very much desired right now - I can tell many in this room want the same.

"Gryffindor must forfeit," Madam Hooch says eventually.

"No!"

It takes me a while to realize that this no has come from _me_.

"I beg your pardon?"

I can't believe I'm going to do this. But then an image of a particular unruly-haired boy with deficient eyesight comes to mind, and what I'm about to do seems like my duty.

"I'll play," I say. "I'll take James' position as Chaser."

There are mixed reactions in the room, but the general response is joyous relief. Sirius actually _hugs_ me.

"You have no idea how bloody long I was waiting for you to say that," he says.

Professor McGonagall also looks proud of me to some extent, but there's one of the team that doesn't look happy by the idea of me assisting them.

"I don't think this is such a good idea," she voices unsavourily. I'm confused because she seems like a person who wants to win more than anything.

Thinking she's worried about my lack of experience, I reassure her, "I've been on a broom before and I flew startlingly well." Sirius nods along in agreement. "The rules and the game seem pretty simple-"

All of a sudden she's head-to-head with me, and I rapidly feel intimidated. "Don't say it's simple until you've actually got out there and played with a Quaffle aimed at your face," she cuts me off. Sirius thankfully steps between us, handing me one clean Quidditch uniform.

"She's playing whether you like it or not, Marlene," he tells the scowling girl brusquely. She accepts there's nothing she can do to stop me from playing, grumbling obscenities as she polishes the handle of her broom. I take the uniform from Sirius with a scared smile.

Fully dressed in Quidditch attire, I feel giddily confident - it's as though putting on a new skin and becoming a different person. But the reality of doubt and panic washes over me when a broom is shoved in my hand, and my hands are sweaty and I've gone pale and I can't breathe and I'm walking out onto a pitch to a chorus of the surname of a boy I could bloody well _strangle_ about now for putting me in this situation…

**James**

I don't know where to go, but all I know is I can't be anywhere near the Quidditch pitch right now, so I walk alone across the sloping lawns of the Hogwarts grounds and back to the castle.

Had I just… _turned down_ _Quidditch?_ I mean, I don't turn anything down—well, not that I'm a male prostitute! I have my limits, of course. But I'm competitive - I don't _decline_ _sport! _And Lily had even offered to end the bet, yet I still didn't accept to play!

Who is this nauseatingly boring person I've become?

I can barely be called a Marauder. I don't prank anymore, the idea of picking on Snape makes me vomit in my mouth a little -but I probably only feel that way because I just generally do not want to be near him at all- and now I'm turning down offers of _fun_.

I have to see Madam Pomfrey. I'm not right in the head. What is the true definition of being right in the head? _Remus Lupin_. And I'm far, far from Moony-like.

In the Hospital wing Frank is lying in a bed, nursing his injured arm while Madam Pomfrey drugs him up with potions that look a similar colour to sewer water or the insides of a dirty toilet. The two look up when I enter, and I immediately advance towards the Healer crying out, "I think I've got a disease!"

Madam Pomfrey sighs as though I'm one of many diseased, and this occurrence has happened many a time. "What area are you speaking of here?" She eyes me up and down despairingly. "You're not going to pull down your trousers, are you? I don't do examinations, Mr. Potter—"

"No!" I shudder, and then explain the symptoms of my illness. "I just turned down Quidditch… _for a girl_."

Frank's eyes look like they're about to pop out of their sockets. Madam Pomfrey, however, looks like a usual amused adult witch that knows absolutely bloody sodding everything in the presence of a baffled teenager. "My my," she comments. "How sweet."

"It's _disgusting!_" I plainly disagree.

"Yes. But that's love, Potter. Face up to it sooner rather than later." She smirks a little at me before handing Frank another sludge potion. He stares at it for a moment before the Healer sends him a firm look and he swallows it down with a painful wince. What angers me the most is that she's so right and she's so an adult and it's so bloody maddening!

As Madam Pomfrey slips into her office I take the bed next to Frank and rest my chin on the palm of my hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asks concernedly, noticing my weary disposition.

"Well, today is not turning out to be a very good day at all and—wait; shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"Yes. But you're James Potter, and that automatically means your wellbeing is more important."

"Oh yes, of course," I say quickly in a haughty manner, and then realize, "Good lord, I'm a pompous arse."

"If you wear glasses it's forgivable though," he quips. I let off a chortle - I know he's lying to make me feel better but I'll go along with his conjecture. "What's happening with the game?"

I shrug glumly. "Don't know. And I honestly… don't care? Ugh, I cannot believe I just said that!" I feel woozy and the need to repent my sins, or something equally as bizarre. "What is wrong with me, Frank?"

"I think Madam Pomfrey diagnosed you already." Unexpectedly Frank turns serious, and I look at him questionably. "I'm sorry for letting you down." He lifts up his wounded arm. "Bloody thing."

"Oh stop being a berk. You didn't let me down." I pat his shoulder to show I'm grateful for how much he played, and he smiles in relief. "You played well out there. Alice was impressed."

His eyes light up. "Do you think?"

"Yeah," I answer genuinely. Why can't Lily be impressed with me? Seeing as we're on the subject of girls, Frank fails subtlety to bring up my bet with Lily.

"So… Not long until the bet ends, eh?"

I hadn't realized until now that it actually isn't - it's early afternoon and the bet ends at midnight.

"Cheer up," Frank goes on. "It's all over soon. You'll be dating Lily and everything will be great, right?"

It should be great, but things never plan out well involving yours truly. Soon this whole Quidditch-free experience will end. But the end seems… daunting. Daunting as hell.

"Prongs!"

It's a Marauder, no doubt. That's what I like about being in a small group of friends and having nicknames. If someone calls my name and it's _Mr. Potter!_ or _James_ or _James Potterrrr _(some of the Hogwarts ghosts are relatively creepy when they address me) then I can ignore it, but not if it's _Prongs_, or in Sirius' special, special case, _Four eyes._

When I turn round I find Peter has entered the Hospital wing, wheezing. "I've been looking for you everywhere!" He tries to catch his breath back while I wait impatiently for whatever news that apparently can't wait. "It's Lily."

"Lily?" I instantly rise. "What about her?"

"She's taken your place!" I stare at him in puzzlement - he's being rather vague. "She's taken your place as Chaser!" he adds urgently.

Oh no.

Stupid, _stupid_ girl.

**Lily**

Whose idea was this? WHOSE BLOODY IDEA WAS—wait, it was mine. Bollocks. Bollocks bollocks bollocks.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?" Danny the Quidditch commentator's voice reverberates through everyone's skulls as I step out of the changing rooms, joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the pitch. Everyone is lined up, ready to set off in the air again by Madam Hooch's whistle. The Slytherins look particularly disappointed that Gryffindor hasn't forfeited. "It seems like our resident Head Girl, Lily Evans, will be taking James Potter's place as Chaser! I don't think anyone saw this coming, except for the romantics. I suppose it's the girlfriend's duty to step in for her boyfriend."

What is he… WHAT IS HE SAYING?

"I don't think anyone has seen Lily Evans on a broom before," Danny goes on. "Let's hope she can live up to the standards of James Potter!"

Oh bloody bollocking great. I have an advanced standard I have to play up to now! AUGH.

…I'm so scared. So, so, so, so scared. I haven't been this scared since I took my O.W.L.s, since finding out kissing James Potter was rather pleasant, since accidentally swallowing a piece of gum and being told it would stay in my stomach for seven years (which I looked up and found out was a complete lie. Stupid tosser Sirius Black). When I look out at the stands it seems like the population of Hogwarts has multiplied by a few hundred thousand, because there are so many faces looking back at me, faces of excitement, faces of anticipation, and faces of expectance.

My shaking resembles the vibrating of a running blender. Dominic notices this and pats me on the back to comfort me, but I don't appreciate it because he does it too hard in such a boyish manner and _ooooow, OOOOW._

"You'll be fine," he says. I make a sore wince in return - that pat really hurt! "Just stay out of people's way. Shoot whenever you can. And don't worry about any Bludgers." He swings his Beater's bat in the air to demonstrate his "skills" and I have to duck to avoid a collision with my head. "I'll sort them out."

"Hm," is all I can manage to form as a squeaky, petrified reply. I can't stop gulping - the second one ends another begins. I put the broom in between my legs, ready to mount, but suddenly Marlene says something low in my ear and I freeze.

"Don't get hurt, Evans."

I gulp yet again, and soon I will die from mouth dehydration. Does _she_ _care_ about _my_ _safety?_

"Because if you do," she carries on, and oh she's not finished, "our captain will _kill_ each and every one of us. Whether it's our fault or not is irrelevant."

"Right." I nod. Marlene has very scary eyes.

And then the whistle blows and _oh my God, I think I've forgotten_ _how to__ fly!_

…wait, false alarm, it's coming back to me. Once I've soared high enough I actually have a lovely view of the pitch and the Hogwarts grounds. It's rather fresh up here. What shall I do now? I suppose I'll just circle the pitch a few times.

I can't even see my fellow team members, unless that blur just there was a person. And that other blur. Oh my goodness, everyone's flying so fast my eyes can't even focus on their figures! I'm in way over my head!

"Watch it, Evans!"

I dive left at Dominic's command and a menacing Bludger just misses me by inches. Why is this game so dangerous? It should be banned in all countries!

Breathing heavily after the near death experience, I seek out the direction of where the Bludger came from and spot Lucas of Slytherin waving merrily at me. Why that little—

"Don't dawdle, Evans." Marlene is at my side and her eyes are darting about the pitch wildly. "You can't afford to dawdle in this game."

"I'm sorry; I'm just a bit overwhelmed by all this—"

"Don't think about emotions like such a woman, just play!" She's off again with a start and I'm staring at empty space. How is it possible to move that fast?

"An impressive goal by Slytherin there!" Danny tells the crowds. "They now lead with one hundred and fifty against Gryffindor's mere seventy. So far Lily Evans has done… well, nothing."

It's only been two minutes, you arse!

"And I think we can all agree she is clearly out of her depth."

I blink with indignation. How dare he… How bloody dare he say that! Even if he's utterly spot on he is not allowed to say that! I'm Head Girl; I can take house points off the smarmy git! And everyone is clapping in agreement!

I'll show them! I'll show them all!

Right. So… which goal is Gryffindor's again?

**James**

I don't quite know why I'm running back to the Quidditch pitch. There's no need to run, I'm sure Lily is perfectly fine. I've seen her fly and she flew spectacularly!

…didn't she? Actually, I'm not totally sure now. When I saw her flying on my broom I was just thrilled by the whole happening of _her_ being on _my broom_ and how stunning she looked with her hair gusted back and—_ow_, I think I just tripped over a boulder. Concentrate! Potter, you are a complete idiot! Why didn't you pay more attention when she was airborne and not how undyingly pretty she looked! Ugh, you are such a bloke.

When I'm up in one of the stands again I spot Remus with Lily's friends, Carly and Lauren, and make way to the front through the mass of Quidditch enthusiasts, getting a scarf and banner poked in my eye at least four consecutive times.

"How's Lily doing?" I ask Remus, searching the pitch for her with frantic eyes.

"Er," is all he manages to answer, before that dark-haired girl Lauren has latched her hand around my throat as a successful means of strangling.

"If Lily gets hurt out there I am holding you personally responsible, James Potter," she growls menacingly. Carly behind her nods along with narrowed eyes.

"I don't want her getting hurt either!" I reply angrily. "I care a lot about her, alright! I had no idea she was going to step in for me!"

After a short while, it appears Lauren has gotten bored of me (or was rather touched by what I said, I really don't know) as she releases her hold of my neck, returning to watching the game. Carly appears to be releasing… tears of joy?

"Your wedding is going to be spectacular, James," the blonde sniffs.

"Alright," I reply confusedly. I turn back to Remus and question again, "How's Lily doing?" He looks just as uneasy as before.

"Er," he says once more. "Quite well, I suppose."

"Didn't she shoot in our own goal?" Peter says.

"Peter, I specifically told you not to mention that to him," Remus hisses.

She shot in _our goal?_

That's my Lily.

But I still can't find her on the pitch. I'm distracted by Danny's commentating: "Taylor passes to Foster – Foster back to Taylor – interception by Black – Black passes to Mannings and—oh! Oh! Evans just missed a Bludger to the head there!" Lily! "Looks like Slytherin picking on Gryffindor's weakest player now! The Head Girl better watch out!"

Slytherin is unsurprisingly playing dirty. I explore the pitch again with my eyes, desperately trying to find just a smudge of red hair – and then there it is, there _she_ is. With some people the uniform wears the person, but she wears it. And she's predictably glaring, at whom I think is Danny – no one calls her weak and gets away with it. Without warning, she kicks her broom and fires off down one end of the pitch, following Lucas who's in possession of the Quaffle. She's right on his tail, and he's taking edgy, fleeting looks behind him, hoping an unsuspecting Bludger will knock her out of the sky, but she dives out of the way of every one that is aimed at her. She's getting the hang of this.

Out of nowhere, she bashes into Lucas' side with her broom, and at such a collision, he drops the Quaffle. And before I can yell out like a prat what she should do next, she already does it: the Quaffle is tightly lodged under one arm and she's gunned towards the right hoops: Slytherin's.

"Um. Wow," I hear Carly mutter impressively. Unable to speak, I nod in agreement.

"What an extraordinary play by Evans, there! She's definitely becoming a threat to Slytherin now!" Danny quickly changes his tune. "Evans has the Quaffle – dives past Taylor –dodges interception by Patterson – bashes past Foster again! She's at the goals but which hoop will she choose? She shoots! Will Slytherin's Keeper save it? The Quaffle goes through the middle hoop – GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

"Yes!" I punch the air. The stands of Gryffindors cheer wildly and start to chant Lily's surname, "EVANS! EVANS! EVANS!"

"Wooo! Go Lily!" Carly yells supportively, clapping.

I don't really take in what's going on around me; I'm just watching Lily intently on the other side of the pitch. She looks so happy - I can tell she understands the feeling I've talked about when you're blissfully content on a broom. I smile as the members of my team attack with warm pats on the shoulder and mess up her hair jovially.

"She looks good out there, James," Remus says beside me. "You've got some competition."

I laugh. "Yeah, that's my girl."

And then a thought hits me, and my smile falls, and it might be my imagination, but the weather turns gloomy and the sky just seems so dark - everything seems so dark. Because Lily will be considered 'my girl' after this bet, only if I win. Not because she loves me or I love her or any sort of emotion, but because of a _bet_. _A fucking stupid bet. _

"James? James, where are you going?"

I don't know, Moony. But anywhere from here.

**Lily**

I did it! I scored! In the right goal! At least, I think I did. Everyone's clapping so I must have scored in Slytherin's goal… right? Oh God!

I spot Sirius flying towards me and ask him dreadfully, "Did I shoot in our own goal again?"

"No, thank bloody Merlin," he grins, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Then the whole team comes over and starts patting me in places I don't want to be patted (did Dominic just pat my _bottom?_ I will kill that eccentric alcoholic afterwards!), and I feel so _sporty_ and _athletic_ it's really quite revolting. After this whole Quidditch escapade I plan to sit on a rather comfy chair for twenty four hours, doing absolutely nothing active. Not even _think_ of active things.

"Was your boyfriend watching?" The Seeker, Sara, winks at me.

"No, do you see James? I mean, hey! I don't have a boyfriend!" Don't you just hate it when you correct yourself too late?

"I think he's over there by Remus Lupin," Sara points to one of the stands. I look over and instantly spy the werewolf's sandy brown hair, along with my friends Carly and Lauren waving exuberantly at me. A grin pulls at my lips as I wave back.

Eventually I spot James, and I'm about to wave at him too, but there's something wrong about his eyes. They look distant, even if they are staring directly at me, and confused more than ever, as though he's just realized something quite horrifying. The sky tersely changes shades to one that belongs only on funeral days, everyone rather mystified as they look up above with ominous grey clouds reflected in their eyes.

And then he turns on his heel and runs.

Rain falls.

**James**

How did it come to this? How did it come to me having to agree to a bet, to make the girl I'm hopelessly infatuated with go out with me?

I don't think I've ever felt this low in my entire life.

There are different levels of low. I like to believe Sirius is near the bottom of the scale (in the most lovable way, of course), but I'm lower than that. I'm like… ants. Actually, I'm like earth. Lower than earth! What's below earth? I'll have to ask Remus.

What annoys me the most is how harmless this bet seemed on the surface, but when you delve in deeper it's… pathetically wretched. There's no positive outcome in the end. Sure, Lily and I would be a couple, but I suppose it would be against her will. When you think about it, following this bet, her going out with me is considered as her 'losing'. If I lose I'm bald.

Thinking about the stake now I can't believe how childish it is, how bloody stupid I was to agree to it! Just the idea of being with Lily -even if it was through a bet- thrilled me. Why couldn't I have just said no?

…Because I can't say no to her. But she can say no to me. Fucking plenty of times in fact.

**Lily**

We… _lost_.

I can't quite believe it.

The weather made everyone irritable, and I discovered Quidditch was to be played in all conditions, no matter how terrible and bothersome. I'd struggled playing Quidditch in clear setting, never mind in rain! But I'd resisted - I wasn't going to drop out because of getting a bit wet. Gryffindor managed to catch up with Slytherin, one hundred and eighty points each, but then that glint of gold had appeared amongst the mist. Sara hadn't seen it quickly enough; Slytherin's Seeker had pounced onto it and caught it between his fingertips, while Sara stared on, crestfallen.

Gryffindor was crestfallen - I still am. To see Slytherin's Captain Lucas hold the Quidditch cup over his head with a slimy smirk really tore something up inside me.

"Come inside, Lily!"

The stands are empty now, students that filled them previously back inside the castle. Most of the Quidditch players have retreated back to the changing rooms, but there's still some of Gryffindor's team beckoning me to follow. I'm glued to the grass of the pitch, shivering as my uniform and skin is soaked with rain water as I look up at the heavens. I can feel the broom handle slip out of my hand because it's so wet.

"You played well, Evans!" Marlene shouts optimistically over the heavy rain. She's holding her broom over her head as a cover, but it's ineffective - she's just as drenched as I am.

"Not well enough though," I reply, but I can't speak loud, I can't even speak… normal. I just sound… distraught?

"Come inside!" Sirius is tugging on my elbow. "You know James doesn't like it when you get soggy!"

A small laugh escapes me, but it's turning into something different, perhaps a slight bawl, and I'm completely mortified.

"Lily!"

Carly and Lauren appear at my side; I don't feel the shower anymore and realize Lauren is holding an umbrella over my head, one with red polka dots that always makes me cringe. Lauren notices a certain look I'm wearing. I drop the broom as she tugs me forwards into a hug.

"Go on," she prompts me.

I can't fathom why, but I start to cry, and I'm so glad it's raining and tears look like raindrops.

…James Potter, what the hell have you done to me?

**James**

For the rest of the day to pass the time I move around the castle from one new place to another, slipping into shadows and behind statues to avoid people, early afternoon creeping into afternoon, afternoon creeping into night. I don't think I can even see a Marauder right now, but I'm avoiding Lily more than anything, which is weird because I never thought I'd desire to do that.

I check my watch and blanch at the time: just two hours until midnight, until the bet ends…

**Lily**

I can't find James anywhere.

After my embarrassing moment of crying because of… losing a Quidditch match (oh Lord, I've gone through the episode countless times yet it still doesn't make sense to me), Carly convinced me to get rid of the waterlogged Quidditch uniform, get into some dry warm clothes and wipe my eyes (…did I really cry because of a Quidditch game? AUGH, JAMES POTTER).

Speaking of James, I still don't get why he looked like _that_ at the stands, and why he left so rudely. And why he's sodding hiding from me, most of all!

…

Even though I'm significantly annoyed with him right now, I just want to… see him.

Wow, Lily, yet another statement you've made today that makes you want to not only heave but slam your face against a very hard and very vertical wall.

I sigh dejectedly as I glance at my watch, just two hours until midnight, until the bet ends…

**James**

I wonder who won the match.

Is it creepy that I'm not that desperate to find out?

It was probably Gryffindor anyway. We always win.

Just one hour…

**Lily**

I've checked the common room at least fifteen times, but I'm back again, just in case. "Sirius," I say, approaching the boy sitting in front of the fire. He should have gone to bed long ago; I don't know why he's still up. "Have you seen James?"

He's looking intently at piece of parchment in his lap, and I'm rather annoyed it's managed to capture his attention more than I have.

"No," he answers, looking pointedly at one area of the parchment. It looks like some sort of map, but when I look closer he rolls it up and away from my prying eyes.

"You're lying," I accuse.

"No I'm not." Another lie. He rushes for the stairs to the dormitories. "See you in the morning."

I really do give up on James. I'm tired and restless and it's been a long day. I look at my watch again. There's barely a few minutes before midnight…

"Lily?"

I look up; Sirius is lingering by the staircase. "Go back to the Head Tower. I have a… feeling James will be there."

Feeling, my arse. He _knows_ James will be there. But I do what he says.

**James**

It's time.

**Lily**

After entering the Head Tower I feel like straight away going to my dormitory, but it's James' room across mine that catches my eye. There's a small gap at the doorway and the room appears to be glowing. Curiosity getting the better of me, I push the door open and find James lying on his bed inside, but my attention is immediately diverted by the ceiling. It's plastered with shimmering stars, but not the plastic glow-in-the-dark ones you had taped to your bedroom ceiling as a kid, but ones that look astonishingly real. Like you're actually looking out of a skylight. You want to reach out and touch them.

"How did you…" I start as I try to walk about the room and look at the ceiling at the same time, something unwise. "How did you do that?" I ask, flabbergasted.

James smiles, "It's a similar charm to the one on the Great Hall ceiling."

I stare at the picture-perfect starlit sky a little longer, until James waves his wand and the ceiling changes to the appearance of falling snow, so convincing I expect snowflakes to fall on my shoulders. He waves his wand again and I'm looking at a sky filled with dazzling colourful fireworks, noiseless ones, which is so much better and calmer. He changes the ceiling back to a starry sky, my favourite one.

"You're too bloody impressive," I tell him off. He grins.

"Come sit with me," he pats the small space next to him. It's much too late sitting in beds with silly boys, but I suppose I'm quite tired and need to lie down (oh who am I kidding?). Once I'm lying next to him, I gaze up at the spectacular ceiling and can't help but feel sleepy.

"My own personal galaxy," he murmurs beside me. I nod, impressive sod with his fancy charms.

"We lost," I let him know; just in case he doesn't know, and I don't think he does because he'd look more devastated.

"Lost what?"

I can't believe he just asked me that.

"Gryffindor lost the game. You know, Quidditch?" I remind him.

"Oh."

"_Oh?_" I repeat heatedly. Something is very wrong here.

He does a little shrug, looking indifferent about, well, everything, until he glances at me and sees how wounded I come across. "Why are you upset?"

"I don't know!" I answer honestly, my voice rising. "Why aren't _you?_"

He looks at the ceiling as though he wants the stars to swallow him up. "Gryffindor will get over it."

I refuse to believe this is the same boy who earlier wanted to win the Quidditch cup so much his life depended on it.

I don't want to tell him, but I do: "I cried a bit. Because we lost."

He looks genuinely mystified by what I said. "Why? You don't even care about Quidditch!"

"But you care about it!" Oh, you're blushing wonderfully, Lily. "It means a lot to you, so… it means a lot to me." I think that makes sense.

"You," he's on the verge of smiling as he looks at me with the most sparkling eyes, "you are very, very strange, Lily Evans."

"Shut up," I mumble childishly. I glance at my watch and with wide eyes recognize it's far past midnight. "You won." I don't know why I'm speaking so quietly. "Are you happy now?"

He doesn't respond, and if he's trying to disguise the happiness on his face he's doing an exceptional job of it. "You won the bet, so… I'm your girlfriend." That sounds good coming from my lips, almost natural.

"Then tell me," he starts sullenly, and I don't like where this is going, "why do I feel like shit?"

The glow of the stars seems dimmer now, but James isn't controlling it - his wand is on the bedside table.

"I don't know," I answer him flatly. If he feels this bad because I'm his girlfriend now it does not do wonders for my self-esteem…

"You know what the sad thing is?" He's moved from the bed now and he's pacing around the room instead; I sit up and watch him uneasily. "The only way I can get you to be my girlfriend is through you losing a bet. I can buy you presents, I can make such a bloody arse of myself for you, I can tell you how pretty you are and how much I can't get you out of this sordid head of mine. But it's all pointless! Because the only way you'll even consider dating me is if we make a wager with a possibility that I'll look even more of a twat than I already am."

"It's not like that-"

"It is. It fucking is, Lily." I don't know what to say, but he's on a roll with his viciousness. "I should feel like a king now, right? James-stuck up-Potter wins a bet and he isn't just a bit snooty over it? Well, you know what? I wish I hadn't won the bet! Now you have to be my girlfriend because you're forced to, because it's to the bet rules. And all I've ever wanted is for you to like me without me having to do anything! Nothing! Just one day in fifth year you look at me and think, 'hey, he's a nice guy! I'll give him a chance! I won't watch him for _years and years_ make an absolute prat of himself! I'll say yes to him now and see how it goes!' But nothing is ever that straightforward, is it? Ever that uncomplicated.

"Being my girlfriend is your unpleasant consequence. Look at your punishment!" He throws out his arms wide as he stands in front of me, demanding me to look at him, but I can't. "I bet you don't like what you see," he says sadly. "Forget the bet. I'm not a bad guy, Lily; I'm not going to force you to be with me. To have you be in a relationship with me out of oblige would break my heart more than it already is-"

"I'm sorry." I'm suddenly hugging him and I wait for his hands to snake round my waist, but they don't come. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Lily, you don't even know what you're apologizing for," he says quite callously, but he's hugging me back.

"I'm apologizing for everything! This inane bet I started, taking your one escapism from you, treating you horribly these past few years…_ sniffing_ your _boxers!_"

He laughs and it's comforting. "I don't blame you on that last one, they are enticing."

"James," I start seriously, "don't you realize I must have liked you even –even just a small fraction- from the beginning? I mean, what normal girl goes up to a bloke and says, 'let's have a bet, drop Quidditch and I'll date you, if you lose you'll be hairless'? My proposal of the bet must have come from somewhere, my subconscious giving me a giant hint I was too dull to figure out at the time." I sweep at his messy hair affectionately, pulling some loose strands out of his eyes. "I really more than like you, and it's terrifying." If I say the l-o-v-e word right now I may just have a panic attack. "Now say it back so I can sleep better at night."

He looks hesitant; I think I've bruised his pride too many times.

I squeeze his hands reassuringly. "Even if you'd have lost this bet, James, I'd still be here, in this room with your fancy posh ceiling, telling you this."

He rests his forehead against mine. "I am terrifyingly in more than like with you."

**James**

I used to believe the best feeling in the world you could only obtain from flying - just you, a broom, and the never ending skies.

Then one day I had Lily Evans in my arms and I kissed her.

Flying - the best feeling in the world? I was wrong.

When you're so high up in that broom you get the sensation of ceasing to exist, like a disturbingly pleasant limbo. You forget reality; forget about all your problems, all you care about is getting higher, _higher, fool_…

But that's stupid. Because when you get back on earth you've still got to face those problems, and those problems have probably worsened since you've wasted time with your head literally in the clouds. The sky is your limit until you're so far above the ground you forget the people that really matter.

Who knew the best feeling in the world wouldn't be achieved from a euphoric potion, or being surrounded by so much money you're bathing in Galleons, but just holding the one you truly love so close in your arms you can feel their heartbeat (_one thump, two thumps, three_), and sealing it with a kiss.

But don't worry if you haven't experienced that feeling yet, because it'll come. Maybe not soon, but the wait is more exhilarating. And when you do finally sense it, you'll think back to this and smile, you'll probably want to shake my hand, and you'll probably want to punch me for not warning you, because it'll hit you so hard.

The girl or the game?

The girl every time.

(…And maybe a bit of the game afterwards if Lily is in a good enough mood to let me.)


End file.
